Hillwood Noir
by Jopeth23
Summary: My 1st HA fic. A tale of betrayal, vengeance, love, sex, deception, conniving, and over-the-top gunfights set in the fetid Hillwood underworld. Rated M for violence, profanity, sexuality, and depiction of drug use.
1. Prologue

**This will be my first piece that I will be writing in six years, and my first Hey Arnold fanfic. So any comments, reviews, and constructive criticism would be very much appreciated. ^^,**

**So a quick backgrounder for this fic: Hillwood has turned into a GTA-esque city (pretty much like Liberty City), Arnold and the gang are in their late twenties. Yes, most of them will be mostly acting out of character to fit them in to the noir-ish setting of this fic. So without any further delay, I present you my first HA! Fanfic, Hillwood Noir. ^^,**

**Note: the conversations below typed in bold letters are in Japanese. I never bothered writing the actual Japanese conversation because I am too lazy to run the conversation through an online translator, or asking someone to translate for me. Rated M for violence and strong language.**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

"Get upstairs now!"

"But Father…"

"NOW!"

Phoebe trembled as she nervously nodded on her father's command. She grabbed her mother's hand, who was still dazed, staring dumbly at the two thugs lying unconscious on the floor whose blood running from their broken noses stained her precious carpet. She then gazed at her husband who was holding a wooden practice sword, the sort that he and Phoebe used during their _kendo_ lessons. He was blocking the doorway as held his ground against the thugs.

"Mother, let's go," Phoebe tugged her mother, grabbing her on her wrist, but she refused to budge from where she stood.

"Mother, please!" she then had to literally drag her mother upstairs. Half-scampering, they made their way to her room which was on the other end of the hallway. Downstairs, she could hear the commotion as more men force their way into their house, only to be met by her father who was still standing on his ground, refusing anyone to make way past him.

Phoebe and her mother must have stumbled twice before they made it to Phoebe's room. Once inside, they then locked the door and set the door chain. They hugged each other, whimpering and trembling in sheer terror as they hear the noise of the fracas below come nearer and nearer. Behind the locked door, Phoebe could hear more muffled curses, groans, and shouts coming from men and her father, dotted with the wound of his wooden sword whacking and crunching through the thugs' bodies.

Phoebe never imagined something like this would happen. Sure, Hillwood wasn't the same city she grew up with. With crime rates soaring and urban decay setting in, it was no wonder that their neighborhood wasn't the same safe place to be back when she was little. Robberies and break-ins within their neighborhood were commonplace, but she knew this wasn't a normal break-in or robbery. There's something else to it…

Half an hour ago was a night just like the others before that. Kyo and Reba Heyerdahl were happy to have their only daughter Phoebe back from the University for spring break. They were having their usual dinner, Phoebe excitedly telling her recent academic achievements in college. Kyo and Reba listened to her as they exchanged loving glances. They couldn't be happier and prouder having Phoebe as their daughter. A straight-A student, intelligent, refined, and polished woman.

They were laughing at Phoebe's joke when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Kyo said, still snickering as he headed to the door. He peeped into the security hole. His face darkened as he realized who were outside. With a deep sigh, he opened the door to face the men waiting outside.

Phoebe noticed that it was taking his father too long talking to whoever was outside. She headed out of the dining room to check who were his father was talking to.

She saw a group of well-dressed Asian-looking men; all clad in well-pressed suits and leather shoes. The bald man in black suit was the one doing the talking, while the other men stood behind him. They were talking in Japanese. They must be Father's old friends or acquaintances, or friends from their local Japanese association in the community where her father was an active member, she thought.

But judging from the tone of their voices, their conversation didn't sound friendly or cordial. The bald man say something in a condescending tone, to which would elicit a stern reply from her father. Japanese wasn't really her first language, but straining her ears she manages to catch snippets of their conversation.

"…**it's been years, Shinoda…rightful place…"**

"**I have give up…no use…return to you…"** he father snapped back.

The bald man peered over her father's shoulder, and caught the sight of Phoebe who was standing in the middle of the hallway.

"**Is that her?" **the man asked Kyo, leering at her. The bald man looked a little older than her father, wearing a thin moustache.

"**Leave her out of this," **her father snarled, clenching his fist.

"**I guess it was all worth it for you," **the man replied, laughing.

"Phoebe, take your Mother to your room and lock the door," he turned to her, commanding her in English.

"But Father, I don't…"

"Just do what I say," Kyo snapped coldly. Phoebe went back to the dining room to her mother and explained what she saw at the door. She seemed to to have not understood half of what she's saying, looking confused as they headed out of the dining room to check on Kyo.

Then suddenly there were screams, muffled sounds of bodies crashing on their carpeted wooden floorboards. Kyo was fighting off the thugs with a wooden practice sword hanging on their wall together with all other ornamental weapons that decked their hallway. The men were all rushing to him, armed with baseball bats, wooden planks, and switchblades. Kyo, being an experienced fighter, dodged and parried their attack and quickly countered with a swift blow, adding to the pile of thugs lying on the floor, who were either unconscious or reeling in pain.

The only one who did not join the fray was the bald man. He was calmly watching the fracas, even smiling a bit as if admiring Kyo's fighting prowess. Kyo was not a violent man, but tonight he was a fierce warrior bent on letting nor one go past his doorstep. This is his house, his domain, and they will have to leap over his dead body before anyone would get in.

Kyo knocked the last thug down, thrusting his wooden sword right into his groin, sending him writhing on the floor. It's done, alright. Five or six thugs now lie on the floor as he carefully stepped over them, his hand still firmly holding his wooden sword. He was sweating bullets and heaving his every breath. he did not come out of this unscathed. He had a bruise on his shoulder from a guy who swung a baseball bat at him, and a cut on his cheek from a switchblade attack which he barely fended off. Kyo eyed the bald man who was looking at him, admiring him for the work he did to his men.

He then clapped his hands slowly, and headed to Kyo. He didn't notice Reba and Phoebe, who witnessed the whole melee, standing few steps behind him. Reba hugged Phoebe closer, whimpering as her eyes welled with tears. Kyo stood his ground, holding his wooden sword.

"**You scum! You can take your men with you and do not come back," **Kyo snarled at the bald man, who simply gave him a smug look. **"This," **pointing his sword to the thugs who were lying on the floor, **"Is my reply to your proposal."**

"**Brave choice, Shinoda," **the bald man replied, nodding. **"But you know very well the consequences of your betrayal."**

And as if by cue, a black Dodge Ram truck filled with armed Asian-looking men in suits zoomed behind him and came to a screeching halt. They alighted from the truck and stood behind the bald man, waiting for his orders.

"**Shit," **Kyo cursed under his breath as he stepped back inside, quickly locking the door. He turned to Phoebe and Reba who were still clutching each other, trembling and whimpering.

"Get upstairs now," he commanded Phoebe.

Phoebe hesitated. What exactly was happening? Who were these men? What do they wanted from them? If this was just a simple break-in, they would not spend much time conversing with her father, or simply gave up instead of bringing in reinforcements. Does her father have anything to do with these thugs? Impossible, she thought. Her father, albeit an experienced sword fighter, would not even hurt a fly. She wanted answers from her father. She wanted it now.

"But Father, why…"

"NOW!" Kyo roared back to her.

* * *

Reba and Phoebe held each other closer. The sounds were approaching, makred with occasional gunshots that startled them, almost making them jump off their feet. Phoebe burriet her face unto her mother's chest.

"_This is not happening…"_

Phoebe tried to drown out her terror with happy thoughts: the day she graduated at the top of her class, her dates with Gerald before he left for the Middle East for his tour of duty, her adventures with the gang at PS 118, the night she gave her virginity to Gerald, her first day in the university…

**BANG!**

Reba and Phoebe let out a scream. The gunshot was frightfully near her room. Phoebe feared the worst, but was relieved when she heard her father's voice, shouting as he tried to fend off his attackers. Then he heard a dull thud. Her father must have sent another thug on the floor. The commotion is getting closer and closer, until they could hear them as if they are just right outside the door.

"Phoebe, get under the bed," Reba told Phoebe, her voice shaky.

"But Mother…" she whimpered.

"Do it now!"

Phoebe once again obediently nodded and crawled under her bed.

"Stay there…and whatever happens, do not make a sound…stay quiet." Phoebe nodded. She covered her mouth with her hands, muffling any whimper or sob that might come out. She has no idea what might be happening outside. She shut her eyes and concentrated all her attention to the sounds, trying to make sense out of them.

The commotion came to a halt. Outside, she can hear her father and the bald man engaged in a heated conversation. Their voices were low, she could only gather snippets of their conversation.

"…**forgiven…clemency extended to…" **the bald man said.

"**Never! …will not change…back on you…" **she heard Kyo roar back.

The bald man laughed, **"…the nerves to rat…spit back to…"**

Their exchange was long and heated, their voices filled with venom. Phoebe didn't manage to catch or fully understand every word. Their exchange is beyond common Japanese so poetic yet filled with hate and contempt. Even with her fluency with Japanese, she still has to figure out what they exactly meant.

Based on what she gathered, the exchange has something to do with his father being an ingrate, having no honor, being a snake egg who hatched only to devour its parent, and so on. It doesn't make sense to her. Why would someone hate her father so much? He is a honest man who supported his family, that's all. There is no way he would be associated with anyone of ill-repute, especially with these thugs.

Or could it be? Is there something that she doesn't know about her father, something that he hid from her? It couldn't be. Her father was an open book and would not hesitate to reveal anything…even something as dark as this…

"**You do not deserve an honorable death, but consider this my last act of kindness for you!" **the bald man hollered, snapping Phoebe out of reverie. Then she heard a sword being unsheathed.

"**And I would rather be buggered by a sword than to receive kindness from you!" **her father hollered back, then a sound of sword being unsheathed.

What followed was a series of clangs as two steels clashed with one another. As the sound of sword clashing rang out, Reba would only sob louder.

"Owwww…" it was Kyo's pained howl, then a dull thud, as if he fell on the floor. Then an eerie silence followed.

"**Die," **was the only word they heard after, followed by another dull thud. Then silence.

Then the door knob started to jiggle madly. A loud banging on the door followed. Then another silence.

**BOOM! *tschk* BOOM! *tschk* BOOM!**

Three shotgun slugs tore through the heavy wooden door, punching holes through it. A face peered through the holes.

"Here's Johnny!" he then laughed like a madman, then an arm poked through the hole, to reach through the doorknob and chain.

Reba cried madly as looked around Phoebe's room for anything she can use as a weapon. She took a lampshade and held it as the man tried to open the door. She looked around and saw Phoebe's link Hello Kitty cordless phone. Call the cops! Right! Why didn't she think of that before? She quickly lifted the handset and dialed 911 right away. No dial tone, just silence. They must have cut off the lines. Hey heart sank.

Phoebe felt her pocket for her cell phone. She felt nothing. Dammit, she must have left it downstairs, she thought. Now they are alone and isolated, under the mercy of these maniacs. God knows what they did to his father.

The door then slowly swung open with an eerie creak. Phoebe could only see the feet of the man standing on the doorway. He was wearing a pair of expensive Italian leather shoes and black slacks. He was still holding his bloodied _katana_ (samurai sword), blood dripping from its blade and staining the carpet. Her mother louder as the man stepped closer to her.

"Don't come any closer, not a step further…" he mother warned the man before her voice broke into sobs.

The man didn't seem to hear her. He drew up his blade, which caused her mother to let out a little shriek. Phoebe then saw a bloodied handkerchief fall into the floor, and heard the sound of a _katana_ being sheathed back to its _saya _(scabbard)_._

"My apologies, my lady," the man said in English in a formal tone, albeit with a heavy Japanese drawl. It was the voice of the bald man. "We gave him the honor…although he did not deserve one after what he have done. Seek revenge if you wish, we will understand. For we deserve and expect it, after all."

Then another man entered the room, wearing the same black slacks and Italian leather shoes. This man was giggling uncontrollably, for some reason. He seems to be carrying something, Phoebe thought, basing on the shadow he cast on the floor. It looks like a box.

The second man handed the box to her mother, bowed, and took his leave. The man presented the sword, and bowed as well.

"We best take our leave," he said, then left the room. Outside, Phoebe could hear the sound of car engines starting, and driving off.

Then there were minutes of silence. Minutes seems to turn into hours. Her mother was silent. Reba sat on Phoebe's bed. Phoebe scooted a little going out under her bed. Is it safe to come out?

"NOOOOOOO!"

It was her mother's blood-curdling shriek. Then what followed was a crazed cry. She dropped the wooden box the man presented to her.

The box dropped open on the floor, the contents of it rolling under the bed to where Phoebe was hiding, stopping right in front of Phoebe. Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth top scream, but no voice came out. It was just spasmodic gasps that came out as she gazed unto Kyo's bloodshot eyes in horror. He seemed to gaze unto Phoebe's welling eyes, his mouth open as if joining her daughter in her soundless scream. Her bloodied face was a visage of horror and pain, the last impression imprinted unto him in his last breathing seconds.

"_No, It can't be…no…"_

Phoebe's scream echoed through their hallways, and into the dark empty streets outside.

* * *

**There goes my prologue. I know it's not that good 'coz it's been a while since I actually wrote something. So R&R, people. And yeah, I know, this prologue is a cheap rip-off of O-Ren Ishii's origins from "Kill Bill Vol. 1". I can't help it, Quentin Tarantino's films are one of my major influences. XD**

**Comments and constructive criticisms from established HA! fanfic writers will be most appreciated. ^^,**


	2. Act 1: Bad Boys

**Wew, I'm back. I can't believe that my prologue would capture such attention and following in its initial run. Thanks for the very positive reception, guys! This gave me so much encouragement to go on with this fic, and improve the chapters as I go on. Thanks for the awesome reviews, guys!**

**I thought my prologue is a little bit too dark, so I decided to lighten up the mood with a piece of action, and introducing our main characters. ^^,**

**So a quick backgrounder with this chapter: Hillwood is now a bad place. Arnold and Gerald are in their late twenties and are now bounty hunters. Arnold is an ex-cop (why he quit the force will be explained in later chapters), while Gerald is an shell-shocked ex-Marine fresh from Afghanistan (which will be explained in later chapters as well). **

**So without much further ado, I give you the ACT 1. ^^,**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the _Hey Arnold! _characters, but I own the this story and other original characters contained. Rated M for violence and strong language.**

* * *

**Act 1: Bad Boys**

A black Toyota Sportsrunner pulled over by the driveway in one of the decrepit apartment buildings in the neighborhood. The engine died down, and so did the headlights. Inside the car, a man with an oddly shaped head and messy blonde hair was on the driver's seat, while an African-American man wearing a crew-cut hair sat on the shotgun seat.

"Is this the place, Gerald?" asked the blonde driver to his companion on the shotgun seat.

"Yeah, this is the place that Fuzzy Slippers fingered," he replied.

The rain had just stopped and dissipated into a drizzle. The wet pavement looked like it had been spilled on by a pail of neon paint as few street lights flickered on this dark street in this part of the toughest neighborhood in Hillwood. As the city had grown, urban decay had set in as well. In these parts, gangs rule supreme, delineating their turf and defending it jealously against their rival gangs. It is not uncommon to hear a commotion here and there, punctuated by occasional gunshots, then police sirens. Even the police were afraid to come here unless heavily armed and with backup in tow.

"Gerald, this looks like a crack house. We can't just bust in, guns blazing, and pick up our guy, like a stuffed toy in a catcher game in an arcade," Arnold stated, his voice full of worry.

"Relax, dude," Gerald replied in his usual laid-back manner. "I could never be more sure that our man I in there," he jerked his thumb to the building, "And he's ours for the taking. Tonight, my brother, we're gonna hit paydirt."

"_Yeah, not after we get peppered by bullets and become pincushions for pocket knives," _Arnold thought, scowling and looking at Gerald with disapproval.

"Besides," Gerald continued. "We came prepared, right?" Jerking his thumb to their combat geared neatly stacked on the passenger seat at their back.

"So gear up, Deputy. Sheriff is gonna bust through this joint for a shakedown," he grinned, and then pressed the _PLAY_ button on the car stereo where a familiar reggae tune started playing.

"_I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot the deputy…"_

Gerald sang along as he reached for the Kevlar vests, handing one over to Arnold, and started slipping it over his body.

Arnold donned his Kevlar vest to humor his best friend. He sighed as he weighed the consequences of being a good friend against 'doing the right thing'. Humoring Gerald meant a possibility of a blazing gunfight and a violent takedown that may end in embarrassment, or one (or both of them) in body bags. 'Doing the right thing', however, meant a higher chance of catching their target and getting their bounty; lesser chances of being shot, mauled, stabbed, or ending up in the obituary pages. That, of course, would mean endless argument and reasoning with Gerald which would end _ultimately_ to him giving in to his best friend.

Surrendering to this fact, he took his Benelli M4 riot shotgun and started loading it with shells. Gerald was also loading up his riot shotgun identical to that of Arnold's, which they bought from Stinky Peterson's gun store in downtown for a discounted price. Arnold thought of a last ditch effort to put some sense into his impulsive best friend.

"Gerald, we could have gathered more info before shaking this place down. You know, stakeouts, getting in touch with more informants, the normal detective stuff," Arnold entreated Gerald. "I'm sure back in the Marines, you don't go into a patrol or any op without sufficient intel, right?"

"You know, you're right," Gerald said thoughtfully. Arnold broke a half-smile, sensing he had won over his friend and got some sense into him.

"_But,"_ Gerald added. "We got sufficient intel. Fuzzy Slippers. He is never wrong when it comes to things like this."

"Alright, whatever you say, Gerald," Arnold said in a defeated tone. "I don't I will ever gonna say this, but," he sighed, "You're a bold Marine, Gerald. You're a bold Marine."

Gerald snickered as he pumped his shotgun to chamber the first shell, ready to fire in a moment's notice. He flicked the safety switch of his shotgun and rummaged through the glove compartment, producing a tin box. Arnold looked curiously at the box.

"Bold Marine indeed," Gerald beamed. "'Coz we got this." He removed the lid covering the tin box.

The contents of the tin box looked like white Play-Doh molded into square cakes, similar to those they played with back in pre-school. Gerald is a bit too old to play with this stuff, he thought. Arnold reached, felt, poked, and pinched the cakes. It feels like Play-Doh, alright. He then sniffed his finger.

"_What the… I know this stuff," _Arnold thought, realizing what the Play-Doh cakes. His eye widened, and turned to Gerald.

"Gerald, is this– ?"

"C4. Yup," Gerald confirmed cheerily.

"What the fuck– " Arnold said, his mouth left hanging open as he gaped at Gerald's pack of plastic explosives.

"I figured that we might need to bust something, like a door or a gate, so I packed some C4," Gerald explained. "Like they say, when in doubt, C4." He beamed at Arnold

"How the hell did you–?"

"I scored some from Mr. Potts, you know, that short boarder from your place who works in the demolitions. Who could have thought that guy was hoarding all the good stuff, huh?"

Arnold was gazing at Gerald, open-mouthed as what he said processed. Mr. Potts, selling explosives right under his nose. Unbelievable. He wouldn't wonder if Homeland Security would one day storm the boarding house for suspected terrorist activity.

Something snapped inside Arnold. This was the last straw. He glared at Gerald darkly.

"Let me get this straight: we're going to bust through this crack house without _sufficient_ info or intel other than a tip-off from one of your informant that you don't bother to introduce or know anything about except for a dumb alias," he paused to breathe, feeling his anger seething within him. "And we're gonna waltz in to that _crack house_ looking like _cops_ in this _baddest_ neighborhood in the city, and risked being peppered with lead by some gangbangers who might be lurking in that _hellhole_, and lay down you little _Play-Doh set_ on the door, and _blow up_ the gate or door to _kingdom come_" his voice is now escalating as his annoyance becomes more and more evident, putting more emphasis to his works. "And grab our man after a blazing gunfight like it's off from a cheesy, over-the-top action flick (the movie _Expendable_ comes to his mind), collect our bounty, and ride off to the sunset like in some spaghetti western, _unscathed and shit?!"_

"Yes," Gerald replied smugly after Arnold's tirade.

"THAT'S IT! Arnold snapped angrily. "I am not going into that crack house looking like a cop…"

"But _you're _a cop," Gerald interrupted.

"Ex-cop," he retorted darkly. Gerald just shrugged.

"We're not going into that crack house looking like cops," Arnold continued, this time yelling at Gerald. "And set your C4 on the door, and blow it up to smithereens!"

* * *

"I can't believe I went into _this_ crack house, dressed like a cop, and I'm now helping you set your C4 on this _frickin'_ door, and blow it up to smithereens!" Arnold muttered angrily.

"That's why I love you, man," Gerald snickered getting his C4 for his utility belt.

"_Fuck you very much, Gerald,"_ Arnold thought, scowling at Gerald.

Their entry to the decrepit apartment building wasn't bad as Arnold was expecting. No one was in the hallways, except for a frightened middle-aged woman who scampered back into her apartment at the sight of the two men who were in full combat gear. The corridors are poorly lit with old fluorescent bulbs that flickered now and then. Arnold feared that someone might jump on them on every corner, so they proceeded cautiously to their objective.

"We're going _deep_, and we're going _hard_," Gerald said in a low voice, setting a small ball of C4 on the door knob of their objective.

"Surely, you can't be serious," Arnold sighed, shaking his head, keeping the muzzle of his shotgun pointed to the door just in case someone unexpectedly goes out of the apartment.

"I'm serious, and my name _ain't Shirley!" _Gerald snapped back, putting finishing touches to his "masterpiece".

"Man, you either play too much Call of Duty, or you're still not over your shell-shock…"

"_Post-traumatic stress disorder_," he corrected Arnold, setting a thin wire and connecting it to a contraption that Gerald fished out from his utility belt, which he put together from parts of an old remote control. _Almighty Detonator, _he callsit.

"Look, Gerald. Are you sure about this?"

"My man Fuzzy Slippers is never wrong. Our man is behind that door, I can feel it."

"We could have spent a few more days staking out or gathering more info…"

"You sound like a chick getting the jitters. Relax and chill out, bro, We'll get it right this time, " he reassured Arnold.

"I hope you're right, Gerald," Arnold sighed. Days of stakeouts and info gathering would point out that their target was anywhere _but_ in this apartment building. He just went on with Gerald in this madness. After all, this wouldn't be the first time that their raids end up in embarrassment, apologies, and threats of lawsuits and shotgun shells.

Gerald was finally done with his C4. He donned his gas mask he filched from his last tour of duty in Afghanistan back in the Marines. He adjusted his Kevlar vest, and with all set, turned to Arbold.

"Ready?"

"Wait," Arnold said, donning a black balaclava over his odd-shaped head, and then put back his MICH helmet he got during his special tactics training back when he was a cop. He donned his protective goggles, adjusted his Kevlar vest, and checked his riot shotgun to see if the shells had been loaded right.

"Ready," he said, raising the muzzle of his shotgun.

"On your mark," Gerald said, his voice muffled by his gas mask, standing aside, bracing himself against the doorpost.

Arnold leaned close to the door, focusing all his attention to his hearing. He tried to make out what it is like behind the door based on the sounds: the TV blaring in full volume, voices of two (seemingly drunk) men talking, or rather, arguing and cursing loudly.

"Remind me why we're doing this, Gerald," he whispered.

"Coz we're the most awesome bounty hunters, and tonight we will get our man."

Arnold then stood back and gave Gerald _'go'_ signal. Gerald then pressed a button in his _Almighty Detonator_.

**BOOOM!**

A quick, loud explosion echoed through the hallway, sending the doorknob flying and bouncing against the ceiling. As if by cue, Arnold quickly kicked the door open with his heavy combat boots , sending the door swinging wide open as the two men armed men with riot shotguns and full combat gear made their way through. Arnold quickly slipped in, the muzzle of his shotgun pointed to the right sector of the room, Gerald behind him covering the left sector.

With heightened senses, honed by years of close-quarters combat training, Arnold scanned the room within a second. It was a living room, the TV on and blaring in full volume, two men sitting on the couch, facing opposite to them. With his senses in overdrive, everything seems to be in slow motion. The men stood up and turned to see who might have busted through their door. To the left was a ragged man in a hoodie who seemed to be dazed by the explosion, while to the right was a burly man in wife-beaters who seemed to be more alert, crouching, as if reaching for a metallic object on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"FREEZE! ON THE FLOOR, NOW!" Arnold hollered, keeping his shotgun pointed at the burly man.

"YOU HEARD THE MAN! ON THE FLOOR…"

**PHOOM! *tshck* PHOOM! *tschk***

Arnold fired two quick shots at the burly man who was holding a pistol, pointed at Arnold. The shots hit him square to his chest, knocking him down to the floor.

The ragged man, in desperation, tried to whip out his pistol tucked in his belt when…

**PHOOM! *tshck***

Gerald fired on him, hitting the ragged man right this shoulder, sending him reeling on to the floor.

"Too slow, motherfucker!" Gerald sneered as he closed in to the ragged man, who was now groaning in pain while coughing violently, kicking his pistol away from him.

Arnold closed in as well to the burly man, kicking his handgun away from his reach. The man was writhing in pain while coughing uncontrollably. Arnold was not worried that he might have killed him. After all, they were using capsaicin shells, popularly known as "pepper bullets". The worst it could do to the burly man is to irritate his eyes, give him a bad couching spell, and bruise his chest badly. Arnold was careful not to breathe in too hard, as the room is now filled with capsaicin powder, which according to the box was "ten times more potent than the hottest Tabasco sauce".

Arnold took out photo from his Kevlar vest pocket and looked at it, and then looked at the burly man who was still teary-eyed and couching.

"We got positive ID. It's him," Arnold said gleefully, turning the man on to his belly, restraining him with handcuffs.

Gerald grinned and gave Arnold an "I-told-you-so" look as he turned the ragged man on to belling and cuffing him as well.

Arnold and Gerald had to literally pull up their captives on to their feet and shove them towards the door, as they are still partially immobilized by the effect of the pepper rounds. As they neared the door, a familiar reggae music playing on the TV captured their attention.

"_Bad Boys, bad boys, _

_Watchu gonna do _

_Watchu gonna do when they come for you!__!"_

Arnold can't help but to snicker. It was _Cops_ that's currently on the TV. _"Oh talk about irony!" _he thought as he led his captive out of the apartment.

On the hallway, the music form the TV blared as the bounty hunters sang along while leading their captives to their car waiting outside. Gerald even made an impression of the voice-over during the instrumental part.

"_COPS is filmed on location with the men and_ _women of law enforcement. The suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."_ Then the two erupted in laughter and exchanged high-fives.

* * *

**And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the ACT 1. Probably you're wondering how did the other HA! characters turn out in this dark _Hillwood Noir_ universe. Don't worry, they will be introduced soon enough. And probably you're wondering how our favorite HxA pairing would work in this setting. Don't worry, I got it all figured out. Just tune in for the next chapters. And while your it, don't forget to leave reviews! I would really appreciate it. ^^,**

**P.S. Yes, I know this chapter looks like a rip-off of _Bad Boys, _and I'm not sorry about that. XD  
**


	3. Act 2: Du Hast

**Thank you very much for the continued support and reviews! Wow, almost 200 views in just 15 days, and I'm just at the 2nd chapter of my fic (not counting the Prologue). That's gotta be something! So yeah, thank you again, and I'll see to it to update this fic as soon as I can, and improve my writing style and grammar with the future chapters.  
**

**Change log: Added a cover pic for this pic (it kinda sucks, I think. If you wish to contribute your own art for the cover pic of this fic, please feel free to PM me.), edited Act 1 with minor grammar and typing corrections.  
**

**And I present you, Act 2.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold and its characters, but I own this story and original characters that my weird imagination had created. Rated M for violence and profanity.  
**

* * *

**Act 2: Du Hast**

The rain had just fallen. The cruel night breeze blew through this neighborhood in the inner city, sending chills to those who still lingered on the streets. A group of homeless guys huddled around a garbage can that they had set on fire to serve as a makeshift brazier on one of the dark alleys. A middle-aged lady hurried through the streets, warily watching for anyone who looked suspicious. In front of the corner store with a flickering signboard, a group of teenagers gathered around a rough-looking middle-aged man. They handed some few bills to him, which he pocketed after counting it and fished out a small plastic pack from his pocket, handing it over to the teenagers. They inspected the packet, satisfied; they grinned at each other, shook hands with the man, and walked away. Another transaction completed without a hitch, the man thought as he counted the bills he tanked in for the day.

Atop the rooftop of one of the buildings in this neighborhood, a shadowy figure looked down on the streets below. Her petite figure was silhouetted by the neon signboard on the neighboring building, switching colors from red, then to blue, purple, and green. She sat on the ledge of the rooftop, her legs hanging on the edge, swinging idly. Pigeons flew back and forth the rooftop filling the air with the sound of their wing flapping and cooing. Steam spouted out from the air vents and clouded the view.

She sighed and stood up, rummaged through her pocket and produced a cigarette pack and a lighter. She took out a stick and held it between her lips, and struggled to produce a flame from her lighter.

***tchk!* *tchk!* *tchk!* **

No luck. Her lighter must had either ran out of fluid, or the flint had gone bad. A few more attempts yielded to nothing. Suddenly, a flame floating in the darkness came near her face, licking the tip of her cigarette. After her cigarette caught an ember, she took a drag and blew the smoke, forming a mist front of her.

She looked up to see who held up the flame for her. It was a tall feminine shadowy figure, silhouetted by the neon signboard. _It's her_, she thought.

"Thanks for the light," the petite shadow said.

"Don't mention it," the tall shadow replied, pocketing back her lighter. "How long have you been waiting?"

"A while. I thought you'll never come."

"Would I say no to an old friend?" The tall lady drew closer to the petite woman, enclosing her in her embrace. The petite woman returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around her and let out an audible sigh.

"How long has it been? Five years?"

The tall lady broke from her embrace, holding both of her hands, "Yes, but it seemed like forever…" She gave the petite woman a sisterly kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you…" the petite woman said, and then puffed from her cigarette. "Did you find it? Have you brought it with you?"

"It took me a while for me to find it," she bent down to pick a bundle wrapped in rough cloth, bound in twine, and handed it over to the petite woman.

The petit woman untied the twine, revealing an ebony hilt wrapped in the in black leather. As she removed the rough cloth covering the bundle, it revealed an elegantly crafted _katana_.

"I have to move a few strings to get that one out. The blade had rusted and badly notched, so I had it re-forged."

The petite woman drew the sword, examining the blade, and then swung it around, the blade whistling as it sliced through air. She pointed the blade forward, checking for any minute imperfection on the otherwise perfect blade. The balance was perfect, she thought. It glowed red, blue, yellow, and green as it reflected back the light from the neon signboard.

"Thank you." She put back the _katana_ back to its sheath. "I could not thank you enough…"

"It's nothing." The tall lady took out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled the smoke, filling her lungs with noxious smoke before blowing it upward. Silence then hung between them, so thick that a knife could slice through it. There was nothing except for the sound of pigeons cooing and occasionally taking off.

"So you have decided, huh?" The tall lady broke the silence.

The petite woman was silent, stroking the length of the hilt of her sword. She was staring pensively at the streets below.

"The path you are about to take will not be an easy one. You could have chosen to walk away, forget everything…"

She gripped the hilt tightly as she heard the tall lady's words.

"After all, everyone had forgotten about it, and you barely existed to anyone…"

**SWISH!**

Without warning, the petite woman drew her sword, rushed towards the tall lady, and pointed the tip of her blade right unto the tall lady's throat. Surprised, the tall lady took a step back to avoid being skewered by the blade, lost her balance and fell on her back, causing a loud crash. The pigeons flew away, leaving a storm of feathers. The petite woman was lost in her fury, ready to run her blade into her.

**CLICK!**

The sound of the metallic click prevented her from moving any further as she felt the cold muzzle of the tall lady's gun pressing against her side. She was glowering down on her, threatening to shove the blade right unto the tall lady who was lying on her back, but was prevented by the muzzle of her gun pressed unto her side. She pulled back the hammer of her gun, ready to fire a slug into the petite woman should she dare to push her blade a millimeter into her.

"You have no idea how _badly_ I want this! Every night, I dream of my blade running through them, and I would gladly sell my soul to the devil _himself _to live out that dream!" she growled at the tall lady.

"Do you have an idea what your face looks like right now?" the tall lady said calmly, keeping her gun pressed against her attacker.

"What?" she snarled back.

"That face. The same blood that runs in you and me." She smirked slightly at her. "The blood of the beast who desires the blood of others."

The petite woman was silent, "I still have that blood in me. It now seethes, flows, and seeks vengeance to satiate its hunger," she hissed in reply, relaxing her grip on her sword.

"Then that's why we are still alive," the tall lady said, putting her gun down. The tension between them relaxed. The petite lady sheathed back her sword, and helped the tall lady back to her feet. She dusted her clothes and holstered back her gun.

"Sorry 'bout that," the petite woman apologized.

"No worries, I had it coming after all," the tall lady assured as she picked up her cigarette that she dropped. Silence pervaded between them. The air is now filled by the whistling of the night breeze and the cooing of the pigeons, which now returned back to the air vents in which they nested upon. The petite woman went back on gazing on to the streets below, puffing from her cigarette, blowing the smoke and letting it mingle with the steam coming out from the ducts. The tall lady stared at the petite woman, who had her back turned towards her. She sighed deeply and stepped closer to her.

"Then if you chose to take this path, and nothing in earth, heaven, or hell can make you change your mind, then I will walk with you, even if we end up dead along the way, even if the path would ultimately lead us to hell, I will go with you." She placed her hand on the petite woman's shoulder.

She placed her hand over hers and held it, "I will be forever indebted to you for this."

The tall woman smiled weakly.

"Vengeance is a path into the dark woods. You may get lost in it, and forget how and why you came in."

"The this is the path we must take," she said with much conviction. "And may God, Allah, Buddha, or whoever deity have mercy to whoever dares cross our path, for there _will be_ blood."

"_There will be blood."_

* * *

"Jack Daniels on the rocks, double shots," Arnold called out to the barmaid.

"I'll have Jose Cuervo, doubles," Gerald added, winking at the barmaid, smiling flirtatiously. She blushed at him, and after a while handed over their drinks.

"Cheers, for the job well done," Arnold raised his glass.

"And for the two most awesome and badass bounty hunters in the city, cheers!" Gerald raised his glass, clinking it with Arnold's . The downed the contents of their glasses in a single swig. They grinned at each other, letting the buzz calm their nerves as they sat back contently.

"We came a long way, man. Ever since…"

"Yeah," Arnold agreed, cutting his best friend. He obviously did not want to talk about the aftermath of him resigning as a police officer. So does Gerald, Arnold thought. They were both broken, disheartened, almost lost the will to live, until they decided to pair up and start their bounty hunting enterprise.

"Bail enforcement agents", that's what they are formally known. With crime rates soaring and corruption in Hillwood's police force becoming worse, the city became a fugitive's haven. No one dared to run after them especially after those who were under the protection of powerful underworld bosses. With the police becoming ineffective and incompetent, not to mention dwindling in numbers, the city implemented the bounty system. It was an instant answer to the city's crime problem, offloading some of the police work to private individuals. Outsourcing the law enforcement of the city, as the critics of the bounty system puts it.

Having collected their bounty check from last night's shakedown, Gerald decided to celebrate with Arnold here in the Elysium, one of the classy techno clubs in the city, much to Arnold's chagrin who would prefer a quite drink in a smoky jazz bar any time of the day. Here, overhead laser lights swung back and forth. The colored spotlight swung around the dance floor to the beat of the party music the guest DJ for the night was spinning, as partygoers danced and grinded with one another. They preferred to stay in the expensively furnished bar where other clubbers hang out after dancing. Gerald decided this was the best place in this club as Arnold hated dancing, and there's no shortage of eye candies in this part of the club.

"Who would have thought we have gotten more than what we have bargained for last night," Gerald said, breaking the silence between them.

"Yeah, like you said, we hit paydirt." Arnold nodded. After all this was their biggest catch in months that they had been bounty hunting. Who could have thought that the ragged man who was with their target was a small-time crook on the run with a bounty on his head? That doubled the yield of their efforts for that night.

"But this doesn't mean I would start giving credit to your weird informants…"

"Fuzzy Slippers," Gerald defrended. "Is hardly wrong. He has been a reliable informant since our days in PS 118."

"_Yeah, tell me about those urban legends that always turn out to be one big misunderstanding," _Arnold was tempted to bite back sarcastically, but he kept this to himself.

"Yeah, he probably got it right this time," Arnold replied. "But we might have been just got too lucky this time. There are a hundred and one ways things might have gone wrong back there."

Gerald was silent, processing what Arnold just said, stroking his goatee. "So what's your deal?"

"What I'm saying is that we need to take things a little slow next time, instead of charging in headfirst. It wouldn't hurt if we staked out a few more nights to see what we are going against. Hell, I still want to live long enough to see Arnold Junior."

"Man, you sure know how to be a wet blanket, huh? Enough with that shit, we're here to celebrate, not to mope around."

"I guess you're right," Arnold agreed. "Sorry 'bout that, Gerald. I'm just concerned about us walking out of that hellhouse in one piece."

"It's cool, brotha," Gerald patted Arnold's shoulders. "But enough with that…" He paused when the oversized sound system of the club started playing the familiar opening notes of a classic industrial metal tracked remixed for this club.

"_Du…du hast!_

_Du hasst mich!"_

Arnold and Gerald nodded to the beat of the familiar Rammstein song. "Hey, this club ain't bad after all," Arnold said, grinning at Gerald, who replied his typical "I-told-you-so" look. They continued nodding their heads, finally culminating with Gerald pumping his fist to the air when they finally reached the chorus.

"_Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet, _

_Treu ihr sein für alle Tage?"_

"NINE!" Arnold and Gerald shouted together, going along with the refrain. They then laughed and exchanged high-fives.

"Well if it isn't Officer Football Head and Sergeant Tall Hair," a familiar voice behind them called out. They turned to see who it was.

"Enjoying the party so far, boys?"

"Uh, hi there," Gerald greeted awkwardly.

Arnold was stunned, unable to find words to say. It was a tall blonde lady who called them out. She smiled mockingly at Arnold, who was still dumbstruck. Arnold finally managed to smile weakly at her old high school flame, who was now standing in front of him.

"Helga…"

* * *

**And** **that concludes Act 2 with the appearance of Helga Pataki. I decided to go on with the tradition of naming each acts after a song that fits the mood of that act and featuring them in the story (Act 1 is after the Inner Circle song "Bad Boys"). This act is after Rammstein's "Du Hast" which is one of my favorite industrial metal acts. Tune in for Act2, and don't forget to leave your reviews. ^^,**

**PS - Spot the _Cowboy Bebop_ reference in this act. And yes, I am not even sorry for this shameless rip-off. XD  
**


	4. Act 3: Killer Queen (Part 1)

**And here comes the ridiculously long Act 3, which is so long I decided to split it into two chapters. I decided to post the first part first, and post the other part later, as 8k+ words in a single chapter would certainly overwhelm and bore the hell out of the readers. Before I proceed, here's a little FAQs that I received through PM in the past few weeks.**

**Q: What took you so long to update Hillwood Noir? You used to post an update every week!**

**A: While I used to be a fast updater, Act 3 proved to be a challenge to write as it is ridiculously long, and have to detail and develop the complex relationship of Arnold and Helga. Hell, in FFnet standards, and update every other week is considered a "fast update", as other fics would stand un-updated for months before an update would come.**

**Q: Your grammar sucks! You should be ashamed of yourself.!**

**A: My apologies. English is not my first language, so forgive me if I have grammar slip-ups and such. That's why I take the time to proofread my chapters, though I can say I am not the most perfect proofreader around (beta readers, some help please? XD).**

**Q: Is that Helga and Phoebe at the beginning of your previous chapter?**

**A: No.**

**Q: I have firearm knowledge, and the way you depicted Benelli M4 shotgun is inaccurate! It is fully capable of semi-automatic action, so Arnold and Gerald doesn't need to pump ever after shot.**

**A: Thank you, Mr. Douchie McNitpick! True, Benelli M4 shotguns are capable of semi-automatic action i.e. no need to pump between on every after shots, but this would only apply if the shells loaded have high muzzle exit velocity, hence high recoil force which would allow the breech to push back, eject the casing, and chamber the next shot. Since they are using capsaicin shells which has a relatively low muzzle exit velocity, they would need to pump at every after shot to eject the casing and chamber the next shell. Though this is a work of fiction, I see to it that the portrayal of firearms are fairly accurate.**

**Q: I didn't spot the Cowboy Bebop reference. Where is it?**

**A: The confrontation between the tall and petite lady was a nod to the famous "Green Bird" cathedral scene in Episode 5: Ballad of the Fallen Angels between Spike and Vicious. You better see that episode, or at least that sequence to see what I mean.**

* * *

**Act 3: Killer Queen (Part1)**

_Arnold winced as the jarring pain stabbed his back repeatedly. He must have hit something hard in the when an explosion rocked and tumbled their van over. He tried to get up, but a jolt of pain hit his spine like a bullet before he fell back on the cold tarmac. He must've broken a few3 bones. He felt something warm and thick dripping from his forehead. Blood. Definitely not good._

_He looked around, trying to get back his bearings. All was a haze. All he saw was a dancing field of gold with streaks of gray shadows dancing in front of him. Slowly, shapes began to form. The golden field formed into roaring flames that was engulfing their overturned van. Then a tall shadow silhouetted by the golden orange flames drew closer to him. The shadow then drew out something from its belt and pointed it to Arnold._

_Two metallic eyes stared dead unto him. Two metallic round eyes, like of those of and owl's…_

_**CLICK!**_

…_except owls hoot, not click like a shotgun firing pin being pulled back._

_He could've sworn he heard the whimper something…_

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_Arnold…"_

"_Arnold…"_

"_Arnold."_

"ARNOLD!"

* * *

"Arnold!" Helga called out, snapping Arnold out of his reverie.

"Is that your gun in your pocket, or you're just happy to see me, Football Head?"

Arnold was staring blankly at her, his old high school flame. It's her. The Blonde She-Devil herself. The Slavic Gunslinger, a name given to her by most of Hillwood's underworld.

Helga Geraldine Pataki.

She eyed him closely as he full blood-red lips broke into a smirk. Her blonde hair changed from red, green, orange and blue as the laser lights shone on to her head. Her wavy blonde hair was tied into a ponytail with a black ribbon. Her alluring expression was similar to those of femme fatales of the classic film noirs, such as those of Marlene Deitrich's.

"Uh…is that really you, Helga?" Arnold asked dumbly.

"_No_, the real Helga is tied up in the freezer, and I'm an evil clone was spawned to take over her miserable life," she replied with her usual biting sarcasm. "Of course it's me, _doi!_"

The two bounty hunters are still silently staring at her.

"_What?!_ Take a picture! It will last longer!" She scowled at them.

"Uh…hi Helga," Gerald tried to break the awkward silence. "How you've been doing?"

"I'm just peachy." Helga turned to Arnold. "And how's bounty hunting business going with Sergeant Tall Hair here?"

"Same old, same old," he replied. "We gain some, we lose some."

"And looks like you gained as lot today." She then turned to the barmaid. "Another round for these the house."

"On the house?" Gerald parroted dumbly. "Wow Pataki, you're really awesome! Like, are you chummy with the owner of this joint?"

"Oh yes. I know the owner of this place very well," Helga replied in trademark sarcasm. "On the account that I HAPPENED TO BE THE OWNER!" Gerald just stood there, flabbergasted.

"Jesus , Sergeant Tall Hair, did a shell in Afghanistan just blew your brains out of your ears, or Officer Paste-for-Brains here forgot to fill you in?" she jerked her thumb towards Arnold, who was grinning sheepishly.

"Yeah, Gerald, I forgot to tell you," Arnold rubbed the back of his neck. "Remember when I told you that Helga runs a business? This _is_ the business that I was talking about.."

"Wow Helga, that's wonderful!" Gerald marveled, looking around the techno club. "You're now really going places, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," Helga waved off Gerald's compliment. "It wasn't easy though. I have to work everything from ground-up before I brought Elysium to the esteemed level in which it is in right now."

Gerald was impressed as he checked the scale of grandeur of Elysium, while Arnold went back to his drink, indifferent and unimpressed. He knew what kind of "work" Helga put into the Elysium to put it on its current level. He then looked at Helga who was now bossing around her employees, giving order here and there.

After giving out instructions for the night to her underlings, she turned to them, "If you guys aren't going anywhere, you're free to join me at my private booth in the VIP lounge," she pointed to the staircase guarded by two burly men in suits. "There's a party going on, and I bet you wouldn't want to miss it." She winked at Arnold.

"Thanks for your invitation, Helga, but Gerald and I have to be going –"

"Aw man, Arnold, do you have to be such a party-pooper all the timer?" Arnold just shrugged Gerald whining off.

"Yeah, try listening to Sergeant Tall Hair sometimes. Besides," Helga then drew closer to Arnold. "I missed you, you know that?" She teasingly whispered to his ear, playfully nipping it while her hand crawled to his crotch and gave it a light squeeze. Arnold shuddered, quickly grabbing Helga's hand, and held it with a vise-like grip.

"Helga, stop it," he snarled at her. Helga smirked impishly and withdrew her hand, prompting Arnold to let her go.

"See you later, cowboy," she said flirtatiously, roughing up Arnold's already messy blonde hair before she headed up to the VIP lounge.

"C'mon Arnold, let's check out the VIP lounge. Sounds like a cool place," Gerald said.

"I don't know Gerald. I got a bad feeling about this…" Arnold sighed, Helga's flirting still fresh in his head.

"Arnold, you haven't moved on with Helga? I mean, it has been almost five years now since that..."

_Five years,_ Arnold thought. _Not long enough for one to forget._

He looked at Gerald darkly, and gave him a hard look.

"Yes."

"Last time I checked before I got shipped off to the Middle East, the two of you are like gaga with each other. You know, like star-crossed or something, 'til death do us apart, that kinda stuff. And the next thing I know, bam! You're staying out of Helga's way like she got cooties or something while she goes after you like some sort of lovesick puppy or something."

"Gerald, _some wounds never heal_," Arnold replied curtly. Gerald nodded knowingly.

Silence then hang between them amid the loud thumping techno music. The memory of the "_airport incident_"was still freshin his mind, even after almost five years.

Gerald then drew out a coin out of his pocket, "So should we stay or should we go?"

Arnold shrugged, looking uninterested.

"Well, let's make the flip and let the coin decide" He then tossed the coin in the air and caught it as it fell back.

* * *

**Watch out for the PART 2 in a few days. Don't forget to leave reviews!' ^^,**


	5. Act 3: Killer Queen (Part 2)

**And here comes the insanely long second part of Act 3. It's the longest chapter I ever written, almost as long as the first three chapters combined. The conversations in bold letters are in foreign language, coz I'm too lazy to put the actual words or have it translated. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters. I own this story and the original characters contained in it.**

**This chapter is dedicated to my ex-girlfriend. Fuck you, that's why. XD**

* * *

**Act 3: Killer Queen (Part 2)**

Arnold sipped his whiskey as he eyed the redhead stripper onstage who was doing a sultry pole dance. He really had a thing for blondes and redheads, he smiled at that thought. He turned to Gerald who was talking, or rather flirting with Rhonda, their former classmate back in PS 118. Rhonda came into this lounge along with Curly's, or Thad as he wants to be called now, gang. Gerald, the smooth-talker and ladies' man. His womanizing ways had always been a cause of Arnold's annoyance, as he had to live with the loud screams and banging on the wall every time Gerald would be on his "sexy time sessions" in his room next to Arnold's.

The VIP lounge of the Elysium was truly for "very important people" indeed. It was tastefully furnished with the finest leather couches with ebony round tables, each with its own overhead lamp, making it appear that each table is an exclusive booth for its occupants. The walls were adorned with avant-garde paintings that Helga must have spent a fortune acquiring. The tawdry entertainment on the stage seemed to be terribly out of place in this elegant secluded section of the Elysium.

Majority of the guests in the lounge hooted and blew wolf whistles at the hot redhead who was now seductively gyrating against the silver pole. Arnold scanned "VIPs" in this lounge. Most of them are dressed finely in suits while downing expensive liquors Elysium has to offer. In each table, the guests were grouped accordingly, Arnold noticed. The Latino-looking guests were on the left part of the lounge. The table near him was occupied by men who spoke in a foreign language which Arnold recognized later as Russian. Curly and his gang were on the center. He seemed to be engaged in some sort of deep discussion with his men; to the point that he didn't notice that Gerald was getting rather _too close _with Rhonda.

A group of men in suits entered the lounge and was ushered to their reserved table by Sid, their former classmate and childhood friend who now works in the Elysium as the manager and maitre d' for the VIP lounge. Arnold recognized the man who seemed to be the leader of this group. It was one of their schoolmates back in PS 118, Georgino di Gialo, known as Big Gino who is now one of the prominent figures in Hillwood Underworld.

"_Looks like we have a Hillwood underworld convention here,"_ he thought, seeing that most of the guests are the part of the Who's Who in the city's underworld. He felt uneasy, looking at all the guests. He felt like a sheep thrown amid a wolf pack. One of the bounty heads he had caught in the past might have been affiliated to either of these men one way or another, and they were _definitely _not happy about that. He felt for his now-empty gun holster. Sid had politely asked them to deposit their guns before leading them to the bar where they were served with drinks _on the house_. It's a good thing he kept a subcompact Glock 26 hidden beneath his coat as a precaution.

Almost tipsy and armed with a measly pistol, they are sitting ducks here. Is Helga trying to get back on him by handing him over to these mobsters? Sure, Helga might have wronged him in the past one way or another (especially the "airport incident"), but there's no way she would do that. _She is more than that, _he thought.

The audience erupted in applause when the redhead stripper finished her number with a bang, snapping Arnold from his reverie. The stage dimmed and the guests went back to their own business. Here and there, the men from different groups were exchanging pleasantries, shaking hands, or engaged in a deep (or sometimes heated) discussion.

"Lonely tonight, Football Head?" a familiar voice called out behind him. He turned to see Helga who was holding a clear glass of vodka.

"Sergeant Tall Hair here is having a field day with all the hotties," she jerked her thumb to Gerald's direction, who is now flirting with Rhonda and her blonde friend. Arnold simply shrugged. With all these _wolves _who could jump at him any moment, he is _certainly_ in no mood to hit on ladies, especially with Helga around.

"Wait, I'll introduce you to someone," Helga called Sid and whispered something to him. He stood back, scowled a bit, and headed to the backstage.

"Look Helga, I'm not really in the mood for this…"

"Arnold, it's not like I'm gonna be jealous or something. I just hate to see you moping around when your best friend is having the day of his life hitting and scoring on random chicks to his dick's content."

"Helga, it's just that–"

"Look, head boy, if you're gonna start spouting off that goody two-shoes stuff, yakking about being a gentlemanly knight and shit like that, then I would–"

"Helga!" Arnold interrupted. "Look at me."

Helga gazed into his emerald eyes. She almost swooned at the sight of those eyes that she obsessed for the majority of her life. She then realized that she missed those eyes, used to gazed on her azure eyes with love, now filled with contempt.

"Helga, I'm just not in the mood. It's just that…" His eyes began to fill with bitterness. "I'm not in…the mood," he stammered.

"Oh," Helga smiled impishly. "Perhaps _she can_ get you into the mood," she pointed behind him. Arnold turned to see the lovely redhead who was doing a sultry pole dance earlier, beaming at him.

"Oh hey, Arnold! What a pleasant surprise! I'm ever so happy to see you here!" she greeted in her singsong voice.

"_Ever so… ever so…"_

"_EVER SO?!"_

"LILA?!"

He was gaping at her in disbelief. The sweet and demure country girl he once loved, the girl he knew that would blush to even a slight hint of sleaze, now is a _stripper?!_ The demons must be ice skating and the Devil himself must be hosting an ice hockey tournament in hell by now, he thought. His jaw dropped for a whole minute before he finally got hold of himself.

He didn't even recognize her if not for her red locks, her typical singsong voice, and her trademark way of inserting "ever so" in her every sentence. She's all dolled up, so to speak. Her thick makeup covered her freckles. Her deep red braids was curled into wavy locks that hung and settled on her shoulders. Nonetheless, there was that typical innocence and sweetness in her eyes, despite of her skimpy outfit. She was wearing a green, lacy bikini, covered with a sheer shawl that didn't really hid anything as you can still see right through it.

"It's been quite a while since I last saw you. I'm ever so certain that it was during our high school graduation when I last remembered seeing you."

"Yeah…" Arnold absent-mindedly nodded. He then downed his glassful of whiskey, unable to process the fact that Lila was now a _stripper_.

"I'm oh so certain too that you went to police academy and became part of the city police, I heard."

"Yeah, but I resigned years ago…" there's a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Oh why?"

"I would rather…not talk about it," he sighed, throwing a glance at Helga who is still smiling impishly.

"Oh, I'm ever so sorry Arnold." She placed her hand onto his, giving it a light squeeze. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

"Thanks, Lila…so how long have you been a stri-, I mean, performing here?"

"_How the hell did you end up as a skanky stripper in this sleazy joint?!" _Arnold's brain screamed out. She must had her reasons, he tried to justify. But it is _certainly_ not in Lila's nature or disposition that she will end up like this, no matter what her reasons were.

"For two months now. My Arnold, it's ever so exciting working in here!" she exclaimed excitedly as he held his hand. "The audience loves my every performance, and the pay is good, not to mention the tips and gifts I receive from my oh so adoring guests," she beamed with sincerest childlike enthusiasm.

"_They don't love your performance! They love to ogle at your package, you dimwit!"_ Arnold screamed inside his head, trying to maintain a phony smile at her, nodding in agreement, trying his best not to _literally_ slap some sense into her.

"I'm ever so thankful that Helga gave me a chance to perform here," she smiled at Helga, who was still staring at them, relishing every moment with diabolical pleasure. Oh how she took pleasure seeing Arnold tortured like this.

"Helga…" Arnold snarled under his breath, still trying to maintain his fake smile, he turned to her to give her a momentary glare, and turned back to Lila with his forced smile.

"Yep, business had been brisk since Foxy Leona took the stage."

"Foxy Leona?"

"Yes, Arnold. That is my stage name. I'm ever so certain that it fits me, as foxes are red as my hair," she giggled a bit. "It was Helga's idea for me to use 'Leona' as Lila is ever so typical, and 'Leona' sound oh so exotic."

Arnold stared at Lila in disbelief. She may be sweet and simple, but not this dumb, he thought.

"_Jesus fucking Christ, are you retarded or something!?" _ He held himself from screaming at the simpleminded redhead.

"Well, looks like some of your fans wants to have an up-close moment with the Foxy Leona," Helga pointed to the group of Russians nearby who were checking Lila out with lustful eyes, grinning like idiots.

"Oh, I better entertain the guests now, Arnold. I guess I'll see you later. I'm ever so happy to see you here." She smiled sweetly at him before she left. She was escorted by Sid to the booth where her Russian "fans" were.

With Lila gone, Arnold turned to Helga who still has that devilish smirk on her face. He gave her the coldest glare he could muster.

"What have you done to Lila?"

"Me? What did I do?"

"You made her into…that?" he pointed to Lila who was now giggling as the burly Russian guy flirted with her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Into what?"

"You turned her into a _whore!_" he snarled at her. Helga's smirk disappeared and looked darkly at Arnold.

"Hey, hold it, paste-for-brains. What's pole-dancing gotta do with _whoring_? Everything that Lila is doing here is legit. No hanky-panky or anything. No sir, no whoring will take place in the Elysium."

Arnold sighed in disgust.

"At least not _in_ the Elysium. But once outside, she could whore out her sorry cunt for all I care," she snickered like a wicked little she-devil.

"Helga…" he growled under his breath.

"Besides, I'm doing that bimbo a favor."

Arnold threw her a questioning look.

"You have no idea how miserable she was when I first found her," she lit a cigarette, and took a puff.

""I saw her on a pawnshop months ago. She was begging for an extension for a ring she pawned months ago before it gets sold off. The pawnbroker started to get goofy and pervy with her, gave her an indecent proposal all in the account of that lousy ring. Turns out that the pawnbroker was the same guy owed me a couple hundred bucks. So I whipped out Ol' Betsy and scared the shit out of him into coughing out the ring, on top of the money he owed me."

I swore she could've worshipped me, built a shrine, and made animal sacrifices for me right there and then. She was in tears, thanking me a million times. It turns out that the ring was her mother's who died when she was little. She looked so terrible; I swore I could have easily mistaken her for a crack whore that time. I mean, I've seen worse, but she just looked…pitiful." Helga took a drag from her cigarette, sighed as he blew out the smoke in front of her. Arnold pictured Lila in her ragged dress, her dewy eyes looking up at Helga pathetically, holding her hands with her bony hands, soot and grime smeared her cheeks. He then looked at Lila.

Seeing her right now, he knew Helga wasn't lying about her looking like a crack whore back then. Although she gained a bit more flesh now, she looked emaciated compared to her voluptuous physique back in their high school days. She was a cheerleader back then, and he had a thing going with her back then. That is, before Helga came into the picture.

"So I took her to the nearest diner, and over the dinner (which she wolfed down in a flash, what a boorish pig) she told me her story. Her dad got laid off and got hooked up to meth. He finally got busted, he's now doing time in the Hillwood Penitentiary. And now, that left little Miss Perfect to fend for herself."

"So she quit college and worked as a checkout girl in Walmart, but turns out she's too dumb even for that job. So she hopped from one job to another. It's either she's too dumb, or some stroke of bad luck would hit her on every job she took. Cut the long story short, she got kicked out of her pad with months' worth of overdue rent and spent months living in the streets."

"To be honest, at first, I took her in out of pity. Turn out to be she has a knack for dancing. For dancing. She's a charmer. It took her a while to get used to the way thing goes here. Soon, Foxy Leona became a hit and our guests kept on coming back for her. Amazing, she's raking in cash and guests here to the Elysium. She is now truly our asset."

"Helga, you're not doing her a favor. You took advantage of her destitute situation and the fact she's too simpleminded enough to realize that she's strip teasing for everybody, and her fans are more interested with her boobs than her dancing," he snarled at her.

"Hey, are you accusing me, Football Head? Elysium isn't UNICEF, and I'm definitely no Mother Teresa. Everyone has to earn his keep here. And this is how she earns her keep, and she earns it well," she retorted.

He stared at her coldly. How could she do this, taking advantage of Lila's dire situation to turn her into a profitable attraction? Has she really turned into this? Or was she doing this to spite Arnold? Sure, Lila and Arnold had a thing going back in high school before Helga came into the picture. It wasn't a field of daisies though, he thought.

"You're a monster, Helga," Arnold coldly told her.

"Oh am I?" she snapped back with a mocking smirk on her face. "A monster? Says the man who hunts down people like rats for a living." Helga leaned closer to him, her face few inches away from him.

"They are criminals; fugitives, lowlife scum who deserves to be hunted down like vermin..."

"And how different are they from Lila? Oh, I forgot, that redhead bimbo used to be your girlfriend before I snatched you away. No wonder you're all worked up." She smiled mockingly at him.

"Helga…" was all he could mutter between his teeth. She hit close to home. He fixed his emerald eyes to her.

"Lighten up, Football Head," Helga said lowly, and much to Arnold's surprise, planted her full lips into his. Arnold tried to draw away from her, but she held the back of her neck as she kissed him deeply. She withdrew from her kiss after a few seconds, smiling impishly at Arnold.

"What was that for?" Arnold said, dumbstruck by the sudden kiss.

"Nothing. You're just too cute when you get worked up," she beamed at him. "Couldn't resist the urge."

"You see, Arnold," she traced the outline of his lips with her forefinger. "You and I are no different from each other. It so happened that we are standing on the opposite side of the yard with a fence between us."

"So what's your deal, Helga?"

She chuckled. "I want you back, Arnold," she told him bluntly. "Put everything back in the past behind us, and let's have a fresh start. You are my _yin _ to my _yang_, Football Head."

"Arnold looked at her in disbelief.

"Are you high, Helga? What have you been snorting?" he drew closer into her blue eyes. Her breath swelled of alcohol and cigarettes. Her pupils looked normal, not dilated.

"No, I didn't snort any junk, silly," her breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. She called out to an Asian-looking waitress who happened to be standing near them.

"Hanako," she called out. The Asian waitress dressed in Harajuku fashion came to them in a childlike manner, bouncing around on her every step. Blonde and red highlights swayed as she bounced waiting for Helga's order.

"Yes, milady? Anything I could get you?" she asked excitedly in her childlike squeaky childlike manner, as she bounced on her platform shoes.

"hanako, get me my Blue Label from my wine cabinet in the office. And two crystal glasses too."

"Yes, milady. And…" she turned to Arnold and giggled like an excited teenager. "…milord." She giggled some more before heading off to Helga's office.

"_Milord? She must've seen Helga kiss me," _he thought, smiling a bit.

"She reminds me of–"

"Phoebe?" Helga completed his sentence with a hint of longing and sadness on her face.

"Yeah," Arnold sighed, sharing Helga's sadness. "It's a tragedy. No doubt. She didn't deserve it."

"I know. I miss her badly. Hanako here reminds me of her," she broke a bittersweet smile.

"She's one of my 'lost kittens" I adopted from the streets, just like Ms. Perfect here."

Helga lit another cigarette.

"She's helping me in keeping the books for the Elysium when not doing her waitress stuff. Asians has really a knack for math, you know."

"You make it sound you're some sort of saint, and this Elysium of yours a sanctuary for those you had adopted," Arnold scoffed. "But that begs the question: why make Lila a stripper and not a waitress?"

"_Where she at least would have a bit of dignity," _he thought.

"Because Lila is _too dumb_ to be a waitress. Trust me, it was a disaster when she first tried out to be a waitress. I'm a businesswoman as much as a I decided t put her in a job that fits her most. She seems happy and contented being Foxy Leona after all."

"You hated her since we were little. I wouldn't wonder if you took this chance to degrade her," Arnold muttered.

"Hated her? That I would not deny, Arnoldo. But degrade her? She already spared me that trouble when she proved herself to be a slut back in high school, lest you forget, paste-for-brains," she waved her cigarette to hm.

Arnold scowled, opening his mouth halfway, but no words came out. Maybe Helga was really trying to help, albeit profit on it in the process. Maybe he's not giving Helga much credit. Who could blame him? Even a guy as nice as him would have a hard time letting that 'airport incident' slip by.

"Milady, milord, Blue Label is served," Hanako chimed in, snapping him out of his thoughts, returning the bottle of expensive whiskey and two crystal glasses on a tray. "Shall I pour you a glass, milady?"

"Please do, Hanako." She then filled their glasses. She smiled before bouncing off, as if her platform shoes has pogo stick springs on them.

"Here's to a new beginning," she raised her glass and clinked it with Arnold's, beaming at him.

"Uh, Helga. I haven't said 'yes'…"

"Whatever, Football Head. You'll say yes eventually. I know you can't resist me."

"Well _I_ can," Arnold protested. "You think I have forgotten what happened in the airport–"

"Shh," Helga placed her forefinger on his lips, effectively shutting him up. "The second set is about t start. All the guests have been waiting for this."

The stage lit up much to everyone's anticipation. The curtain opened, revealing a mustachioed redheaded guy wearing white wife-beaters, white Adidas jogging pants with matching running shoes. He was holding a baseless mic stand. The crowd cheered wildly, chanting his name.

"Eugene! Eugene! Eugene!"

Arnold's eyes widened. Wonders just never ceases for tonight. He looked at Helga, giving his usual "wtf look".

"That…Freddie Mercury guy is…Eugene…?" he stammered, jerking his thumb towards the stage. He must be dreaming, or his drink must have been tainted with some hallucinogenic drug.

"Yes, Eugene Horowitz, our class jinx. He came out of the closet a few years ago and had been performing around the city ever since. C'mon, as if you didn't know that Eugene has a knack for music. The two of you were in that musical back in PS 118, right?"

Arnold nodded as he watched with awe and disbelief the crowd going wild for Eugene. These notorious mobsters; the Latinos, Russians, and even the Italians are hooting and cheering, their differences were momentarily set aside and now united by their love for either Freddie Mercury or _Eugene as Freddie Mercury. _He acknowledged their cheers with a bow and raised his hand, as if signaling the crowd for silence which they happily obliged, and settled down, eager for his first number.

The opening notes played, and Eugene snapped his fingers in tempo with the music.

"_She keeps Moet and Chandon_

_In her pretty cabinet_

'_Let them eat cake' she says_

_Just like Marie Antoinette…"_

The crowd erupted in cheers, most of them singing along with this Queen's classic. Even Helga was singing along, humming at parts she couldn't remember the lyrics. Arnold smiled at her. _Killer Queen_, no other song fits Helga.

"_She's a Killer Queen_

_Gunpowder, guillotine_

_Dynamite with a laser beam_

_Guaranteed to blow your mind_

_Anytime!"_

The door leading to the VIP lounge flew open, and a group of Asian-looking mencame in. As with the other guests, they were dressed in fine, expensive suits. Sid greeted them with a low bow. A young, tall Asian who was ahead the group whispered something to Sid. After a few nods, he led the rest of the Asians to their reserved booth, while the young Asian together with a few others headed towards Helga. A heavyset bald guy who had a scar on his left cheek who seemed to be their leader stayed in the middle of the group. He eyed Helga, who was watching the performance while holding her glass. She saw the group approaching her. She stood up and bowed to them.

"Good evening, Mr. Ichimonji. The Elysium welcomes you and your entourage," she greeted him in a formal tone.

The young man proceeded to translate this to the bald man, who nodded and smiled a bit at Helga.

"**It is a pleasure to finally meet the famous Helga Pataki. I heard a lot about you, my lady," **he said in his deep, low voice. The young Asian then translated this for Helga.

"Perhaps my reputation precedes me," she replied, laughing a little.

The bald man smiled and acknowledged her remark. He turned to the stage where Eugene was pouring his heart out in his performance. His band performed with the same fervor as with him. Ichimonji grinned and leaned closer to his "interpreter".

"**Well I'll be damned. Either this Pataki woman is really a witch like they always say and worked some sort of dark magic to bring Freddie Mercury back to life, or this club just had awesome performers," **he told him in Japanese, laughing heartily. The young man laughed as well and translated this for Helga.

Helga smiled, "Arigatow-gowzaimas-soo, Itchy-mown-gee-son." She bowed, oblivious to her pathetic attempt to sound genuinely Japanese. The young man tried his best to hold his laughter, while Ichimonji simply smiled at her before taking his leave and heading to his reserved booth.

"Some reputation you have here," Arnold scoffed, taking a sip of scotch from his glass.

"Of course, I _am_ Helga Pataki," she took a puff from her cigarette, and then blew the smoke to Arnold's face. "I am the mistress of the Elysium."

"So this is some sort of an underworld neutral ground? As I can see here, if this is a normal situation, guns had been blazing, and these people could have been trading slugs with one another rather than kind words."

"As long as they are under the Elysium, one can expect protection from me. Anyone who violates the tranquility of the Elysium shall suffer dire consequences," she said gravely. "It is like some sort of unwritten rule amongst them."

"And you enforce it? How? By Old Betsy and Five Avengers?" Arnold sneered.

"Is there any other way?" Helga replied, taking a sip from her glass, and then drew her face nearer to Arnold.

"That's why I am making you this offer. Let's start a new one. Let's put aside the past and start from square one. You can leave your bounty-hunting behind and live with me. We got the Elysium, there's no need for you to worry about the future." She caressed his cheek.

"Isn't that a little _too _direct, Helga?"

"Subtlety isn't exactly my virtue. Besides, any subtlety wouldn't get into that _dense _head of yours, Football Head." She drew ever closer, her lips an inch away from his.

"Arnold, the last bounty head you just caught is one of Big Gino's men. I'm sure he wouldn't be so happy about that. I wouldn't wonder if there's a contract out for your head."

Arnold looked at Big Gino, who was also staring at him. He saw him lean closer on his elderly _consigliere _and whisper something. The _consigliere_ shook his head and said something back, which caused him to scowl a bit, and then nodded knowingly.

Arnold sighed. Helga won't simply give up on him. He gazed her azure eyes gazing at his with such intensity. Her breath smelled of a noxious mixture of scotch and cigarette. He drew away from her, looking at her darkly.

"Are you trying to bribe me into going back to you? What kind of man do you take me for, Helga?"

"The man I loved and I will always love …"

Arnold was silent, his green eyes gazing at him blankly.

"You think I could have easily forgotten? That night…in the airport…_some wounds never heal,_ Helga," he said lowly, then turned back to his scotch which he downed in a single gulp.

Helga felt a sledgehammer smash his heart into thousand pieces. Her stomach was wringing in knots. She wanted to break down, cry, punch Arnold, and tear the first person she sees into pieces with her bare hands. She drew close to him, holding his broad shoulder, and looking at him with entreating eyes. She wanted to scream at him, curse at him, beat him, but she can't. She just gazed at those verdant eyes. Her azure orbs were begging, wanting to have him. As their eyes locked, Eugene went on with his crooning.

"_Love of my life - you've hurt me__  
__You've broken my heart and now you leave me__  
__Love of my life can't you see__  
__Bring it back, bring it back__  
__Don't take it away from me__  
__Because you don't know -__  
__What it means to me…"_

Arnold can't bear to see those eyes. He felt pity and disgust, seeing Helga reduced to begging for his love, bribing him with a stable life in exchange for his love, _love_ that he could not easily dispense. Past betrayals could not be easily forgiven, let alone forgiven. He sighed and broke away from her gaze, and turned his attention to Hanako, who was bouncing around and making her way among the tables with a tray filled with drinks and bottles. That girl, with that, it will be a matter of time before she tripped with those high platform shoes of hers…

_**CRASH!**_

…or perhaps he spoke too soon. Before anyone could notice, she tripped, landing face first on to the floor. After she regained her senses, she slowly got up to her knees and looked up, only to find Rhonda glowering down at her with a very much wet dress.

"_Not good…"_

Rhonda's eyes widened as the clumsy Asian waitress spilled much of the cocktail on to her dress. She began to fill with fury, and grabbed Hanako by her collar, lifting her up. Being shorter than the rich brunette, she had to tiptoe to prevent her blouse from being ripped.

"You dumb bitch! Look what have you done! You realize how much this cost? It costs more than your sorry cunt, you stupid twat!" she roared at her.

"_Yatta! Ya-yatta! Ya-yamette kudasai!"_ she squealed as she tried to squirm free from Rhonda's clutches. She was crying, mascara trails smeared her cheeks as she tried to shake off from the rich brunette's vise-like grip

"You Japanese belong to your weird porn and shit! You deserve nothing but to be squirted upon by a dozen perverted men!" Rhonda continued on.

No translation was needed to cause the Japanese men to stand up and rush to defend one of their people, Hanako. But Ichimonji motioned them to stand down and observe the proceedings. Curly stood up as well, his hand inside his coat ready to draw his gun, but his men held him back.

"Rhonda, she didn't mean it…" Gerald entreated her.

"Stay out of this, Johanssen!" she roared back at Gerald, giving Hanako a violent shake, which caused her to bawl louder. She gave Hanako an annoyed glare. "Oh shut it! I'll see that your sorry ass would pay for this!"

"Is there anything wrong?" A cold, stern voice behind Rhonda asked. She turned to see a Helga looming behind her. She then shoved Hanako away. She fell down, only to be caught by Gerald.

"This dumb Asian twat of a waitress of your spilled the entire cocktail on my Christian Dior dress! Do you have an idea how much this cost, Helga?!"

"I think I _do _have an idea, Princess," she snapped back at her and turned to Hanako, who is still sobbing, wiping her tears, turning her make up into one big mess smearing her face.

"Hanako?"

"Milady…Ah-I didn't mean to…*sniff* spill the cocktail on Miss…*sniff* here…it's an accident, I swear, Milady…" Hanako explained before her voice was drowned out by her cries.

She nodded, and then turned back to Rhonda. "There you go, Princess. You got your explanation. I will take care of my wayward employee. Now if there's anything I could recompense for the inconvenience…"

"Fire her," Rhonda said curtly.

Helga raised her eyebrow, "Excuse_ me?_"

"I said fire her, Pataki."

"You, asking _me_, to fire her?" Blue embers on her eyes started to glow on her eyes, her rage started to burn inside her.

"Did I stutter, Helga? I'm telling you to fire that dumb twat, and then we're even."

"Last time I checked, Princess, _I _was the _owner_ of Elysium, so it's my call what to do with my wayward employees. Now if you would go back to your booth with that creepy psychotic boyfriend of yours, I would happily appreciate it," she said, almost snarling at her.

"Listen, Pataki. If it wasn't for Thad here, I wouldn't stoop down and settle for this skanky joint of yours. Hell, I can buy this ratty bar of yours five times over. So fire _her_, before…"

"Before _what, _Rhonda? Is that a threat?" Helga scoffed. "Listen, _bucko._ No one threatens Helga Pataki, unless you want to answer to Old Betsy and Five Avengers."

"Gosh, Helga. I didn't know you still resort to your schoolyard bullying tactics. That is _so_ PS 118," she sneered back. "What you gonna do, pummel me with your fists…"

_***tsschk* CLICK!**_

Rhonda's mocking smile on her lips disappeared at the sight of the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun staring at her. Behind the muzzle was two blue orbs now blazing with fury.

"I suppose you haven't been acquainted with Old Betsy here," she said mockingly, her lips forming a diabolical smile as she prodded her Lupara sawed-off shotgun on to Rhonda's cheek.

Everybody in the VIP lounge was silent. Even Eugene and his band stopped their number to watch the commotion happening on the bar on the back of the lounge.

"Now, what were you saying again, Princess? I believe you were threatening me, _right?" _Helga jabbed the muzzle of "Old Betsy" on her cheek. Rhonda was shaking in fear, turning her head away from the muzzle of Helga's shotgun as if it was a red hot poker.

"Helga…please…" she whimpered, mixed with sobs.

"Do _I _hear you begging, Princess? Whoa there, I could've sworn you were threatening a minute ago, and now you're _groveling?_ How pathetic…" Helga looked at her in disgust.

"Helga, let her go."

It was Arnold, his hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her away from Rhonda. But Helga was lost in her fury. Her azure orbs were still blazing with rage, fixed on the brunette who was now trembling in fear for her dear life.

Arnold wrapped his arm around Helga, and whispered softly behind her.

"Let her go, Angel…"

"_What, Arnold is trying to sweet-talk me out of this thing? Fat chance, Football– "_

_**CLICK!**_

Helga shuddered as she felt Arnold pull the hammer of his concealed subcompact Glock 26 and press against her lower back. She turned to him, and her blazing blue eyes met his verdant eyes, filled with steely cool resolve. Her fury abated, and lowered Old Betsy, flicked the safety back on, and put it back to its holster. Arnold did the same, letting go of Helga, flicking the safety back on, and holstering back his Glock under his coat.

Curly rushed to Rhonda's side and grabbed her by the wrist. He gave her a baleful look before turning to Helga.

"I am sorry for all this commotion, Helga. I will take care of this matter with Rhonda myself…"

"Hold it, Thad, you don't mean to say you are siding with this blonde bitch!" Rhonda interrupted, waving her arms in exasperation. "_She's _the one who wronged me! If it wasn't for that dumb twat, I would be very much dry now…"

_**WHAP!**_

A loud backhanded slap sent Rhonda reeling on to the floor. She held and rubbed her red cheek before Curly grabbed her by the wrist again and…

_**WHAP!**_

…landed the second backhanded slap on her other cheek. Curly then grabbed her by the shoulder and hoisted her up, glowering down at her.

"You dumb whore! You should know better than to cross Helga Pataki! You disgust me! Get her out of my sight!" He tossed Rhonda to two of his bodyguards. They then dragged Rhonda out of the VIP lounge.

He then turned Helga, "I hope this little incident would not affect our _deal, _Helga," he said ingratiatingly.

"Nothing's changed, Curly. Just keep your bitch in line, put her in a shorter leash, and we will be all good now."

"As you wish, Helga," Curly nodded before he headed back to his booth.

Everybody was silent at the turn of events. Ichimonji leaned closer to the young Asian who was translating for him.

"**What can you say about this Pataki woman?"**

"**She is not to be trifled with,"**hereplied in Japanese.

"**Gino, we must be careful in dealing with this woman,**" the _consigliere _whispered to Gino in Italian.

The Russian boss smiled at the proceedings, **"The Blonde Devil indeed. Our Olya had grown into a fine woman."**

Sid motioned Eugene to continue with their performance, which the guests appreciated but was now met with less enthusiasm. Gerald helped Hanako back to her feet, and shyly made her way to Helga, fidgeting.

"Mi-milady..I'm so sorry I…"

_**THWAP!**_

Her apologies were met with a quick backhanded slap. She was sent reeling back to Gerald's arms.

"That is for your stupidity, Hanako," Helga snarled at her. "You may take the rest of the night off. Meet me in my office before you go." Hanako obediently nodded as she rubbed her sore cheek, sobbing as she smeared more of her makeup on her face when she tried wiping away her tears. Gerald took a tissue and helped her clean up her smeared makeup.

"There, there. Stop crying, babe. Hell, you're making a mess of that lovely face of yours," Gerald comforted Hanako as he wiped away the mascara trails on her cheeks.

"_Do-domo…_thank you…" she stammered in a heavy Japanese accent. "By the way…I'm Hanako…"

"Gerald," he awkwardly reached out his hand.

"Nice to meet you., Gerald-san…" she shook Gerald's hand. She tried her best to smile at him, but Helga was looking daggers at her. She shuddered.

"Ah-I should be going…thanks…and bye…" she bowed quickly at Gerald, and quickly headed out of the VIP lounge.

"_Something is strangely familiar with her…" _he thought as unusually feeling of nostalgia began to fill him.

Arnold tapped Gerald's shoulder, "We should be going as well." Gerald nodded and headed to Sid to recover their weapons that they deposited. "Thanks for the invitation, Helga." And they headed out of the VIP lounge.

Helga was standing dumbstruck, just sitting there, watching Arnold and Gerald leave the lounge. She quickly stood up and followed them to the exit door and to the staircase.

"Arnold!" She called out to him, who was halfway down the stairs. He stopped and turned to see Helga standing on the top rung of the stairs, looking at him, her blue eyes filled with resolve.

"My offer still stands," she told him sternly. Silence then hung between them. Tension began to build and thicken, so thick that one may suffocate from it. Their eyes met and locked with each other. As if embroiled in a game of chicken, no one dared break the silence nor back down from their staring contest.

"Fat chance, Helga," Arnold said in a low tone, but it resounded above the thumping base of the techno music playing at the dance floor below and Eugene's crooning from the VIP lounge. He then turned away and headed downstairs.

Helga was left standing on the top of the stairs, dumbstruck. Then, pure fury began filling her. She clenched her fist until they were red. She gritted her teeth, cursing beneath her breath. How could he reject her? How _dare_ he reject her. She wanted to scream, to pummel the first person she sees, to unload all Old Betsy's shells on him or her. Then murderous thoughts began to fill her head.

She would put a contract on Arnold's head. No, she's get Sid and his boys to drive by Arnold's place and pepper it with bullets. No, _she'll_ go to Arnold's place _herself _and plant lead into that football head of his. Or she could kidnap Arnold, and then torture Lila in front of him, and then she will lock them both in a box, pour cement on to them, and throw them in the middle of the lake. She'll show him why she earned the name _Blonde Devil_. How dare he reject her offer. And yet…

How much she loved him. She can't bear to hurt him, let alone kill him. But fate had been cruel to them. Was it her fault that she was not prudent enough in the past, that she chose to lead this path in life while Arnold chose the other? He thinks she had betrayed him in the past, but if only he knew what her real intentions back then…

She pulled herself together. She was more than an angst-ridden teenager that she used to be. She was now the mistress of the Elysium, a respected and feared figure among the Hillwood's underworld. She's the Blonde Devil. She kept her composure and headed back to the lounge.

She avoided any eye contact with her staff and guests. She headed straight to her office where she slammed the ebony door behind her. Inside, in the privacy of her office, she broke down in tears, her knees turning to jelly as she sat on the carpeted floor, sobbing violently. Fat tears flowed freely from her eyes, leaving mascara trails smearing her face.

"_Arnold, you idiot…I love you.."_

"Helga?"

She turned to see who it was. It was Hanako. She wiped her thick makeup from her face, leaving a pure and innocent face. Helga didn't notice her come inside her office. She stood up, wiped away her tears, and drew towards Hanako. She wrapped her arms around her, locking her in her embrace. The Asian waitress reciprocated the gesture, wrapping Helga in her embrace. Helga then gazed at her midnight black eyes, and planted a tender kiss on to her thin lips.

The kiss lasted for a few seconds. Helga then hugged her closer and whispered to her ear.

"I'm sorry…"

Hanako patted Helga's back, and was silent for a minute.

"Well-played, Helga," she said gravely, in voice that was very much different from her typical squeaky one.

_"Well played…"_

* * *

**And that concludes this uber-long chapter. The conversation between Helga and Arnold was almost a verbatim of the conversation I had with my ex, hence the reason for dedicating this chapter to her. I would like to thank my _consigliere,_ BlackRob88, for sharing ideas and suggesting to have Curly and Rhonda to be in this chapter instead of some random character I pulled up from my a$$. And thanks to my loyal reviewers, Nep2une, MorganTaylorM3, Stavros 92, and Sandra Pullman. These guys have supported not only me, but other fanfic writers in the Hey Arnold! fandom. You guys are awesome! You rock! ****  
**

**Don't forget to read and review! Next chapter will be up in about 2 weeks. ^^,**


	6. Interlude: Motherfucking Whore

******Okay, to be honest, this is the chapter that I was torn between including in this fic, or not including it at all. This contains my first attempt in writing a sex scene, and to be honest, I'm not good at it. So forgive me if the sex scene turned out bad, and I would appreciate any constructive criticism so I can improve my craft. Also, this chapter is so freakin' emo I want to slash my wrist after writing this chapter. I even have _no idea_ how I came up with the things I wrote down in here. I owe it to the fact that _I was drunk_ writing half of this chapter. This chapter doesn't move the plot forward, but rather explores what's going on Helga and Arnold's mind after the events in last chapter. So before I proceed, a quick FAQs.**

**Q: What's the title of the songs that Eugene sang in the last chapter.**

**A: _Killer Queen_ by Queen. The second one was _Love of my Life,_ also by Queen. Also, the lyrics are owned by Queen, and not by me. Just a quick disclaimer.**

**Q: Are you a Queen fan?**

**A: Yes. I grew up listening to their music, owing to the fact that both of my parents loved Freddie Mercury, Queen, and their music.**

**Q: Is Hanako Phoebe in disguise?**

**A: No.**

**This chapter will feature the first cameo that I promised for my loyal reviewers. Enjoy!**

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**Interlude: Motherfucking Whore/I Cry Alone**

"_You saw him?"_

"_Yes, I did. I did not expect to see him in there."_

"_So that's him…tough luck for us."_

"_It will not be easy for us, but I am more determined than ever."_

"_The beast that hungers for the blood of others stirs within you."_

"_And now it seeks for their blood."_

_Silence._

"_Did he notice you? I saw the two of you together…"_

"_I don't think so… but I have to admit, seeing him again is…"_

"_Will he be the one who causes you to stray from your path?!"_

"_No! of course not…but…"_

"_You may have loved him…but don't let your emotions get in the way. You chose this path, and I chose to walk with you. There is no turning back now."_

"_I know. No one will get in the way…"_

"_NO ONE…"_

* * *

She moaned deeply as the hunk of flesh thrust deeply into her, pounding her as she dug her fingernails deeper unto his back. She's sure he wouldn't mind her leaving deep scratches on his back. He was used to this pain. He was _paid_ for this pain.

She moaned louder as he picked up the pace and his thrusts became faster and vigorous. Her rickety bed shook and its head banged against the wall. The air was thick with the scented candles and burnt reefer they had smoked before she allowed, or rather _commanded_ him to perform the service he was summoned for. Her hips gyrated in sync with his every thrust. She felt her snatch moisten, some of her love juice dripping on her thighs and crack. She pulled up his head and let him smother her neck with kisses. She liked it that way. She ran her fingers between his hairs and clutched it tight enough for him to pause and wince in pain. Like a puppeteer controlling a marionette, she guided him to her full breasts, and prodded him to nibble her erect nipples, which he complied like an obedient child. The overpowering electric-like current of sensations began flowing from her nipples, then to her spine, and down to her crotch. She let out a loud moan. Her vision began to turn into a bright kaleidoscope of colors. She's nearing her desired climax.

"On you back, now."

He lifted his head and gave her a confused look.

She grabbed his arm and forcefully flipped him on his back, banging his head on the head of the bed in the process. He howled in pain, but she couldn't care any less. He should have gotten used to her rough handling. This was like not the first time he had "serviced" her after all.

She then mercilessly straddled him, forcing his erect cock into her. _Why it always feels like rape every time she does this_, he thought. She them gyrated violently, slamming her hips unto his crotch, as if a butcher's hammer tenderizing a meat. She picked up the pace, digging her long fingernails on his shoulders. She moaned loudly, like a hungry animal savoring every piece of its kill. Her moans came into an explosive climax, echoing through the door and to the hallway outside her apartment. A cathartic release. She heaved her every breath as she collapsed on to him. She can feel her love juices dripping freely from her pussy. A sweet release, that's what she wanted. She can feel her heart beating like a racing wolf on hot pursuit of his prey. She felt his full chest rise up and down with his every breath. She felt his face and stroke his delicate jaw. _How good it felt to be in a man's arm after a hard week,_ she thought. She expected to see an emerald-eyed blonde god looking down at her with a loving gaze after this evening's rush.

Instead, a dull amber-eyed redheaded man-wench was looking at her stupidly. She sighed in disgust. She tapped his shoulder, waving him off in dismissal.

"Get off my bed. I'm done for tonight," she whispered in a commanding tone.

The redhead stared at her sapphire eyes dumbly.

"Are you deaf, Eugene? I said get off now and get dressed. I won't require your services for tonight," she scowled at him.

"I'm off…I'm off…" He quietly slipped off the bed. He fumbled for his underwear and pant strewn across the floor.

She reached for her pink silk bathrobe neatly folded on the bedside, and wrapped it around her naked body. She took a cigarette from her pack, lit it, and took a deep draft. She blew the smoke as she leaned on the head of the bed, watching Eugene fumble around (and trip) looking for his shirt. Still the same clumsy boy she used to know, she thought.

He finally got dressed and turned to her.

"Uh, Helga…I mean, milady, I would be going now…" he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Helga took her wallet, and handed a couple of hundred bills to him, which he eagerly took, grinning.

"Okay. Don't be late for tonight. Your first set is at 9. We're expecting a full house tonight."

"Yes, milady," he replied before saluting her, grinning, and headed out of her room and her apartment, leaving Helga alone. Solitude at last. That's what she wanted after hours of intense sex. She reached for the decanted on the bedside table, pulled out the stopper, and poured herself a glassful of bourbon. She gulped down half-glassful of it, and let the liquor burn down through her throat. She let the buzz rise up to her head. Lightheaded, she cradled back her head on the bed, took a deep draft from her cigarette, and blew the smoke upwards.

Bourbon and smoke after sex. Perfect.

Almost perfect.

Except, the man she was with was not _him_, but a bisexual vocalist in her club who moonlights as her personal man-whore. Sex was her release. She never tried drugs other than an occasional bowlful of weed she smoked from time to time. Never be addicted to your own goods, she always told herself.

Sex used to be their nirvana.

Years ago, this room was filled with their moans, screams, and sighs. In this same very bed, her head was nestled on his full chest, and then they talked. Talked about the day's events. Talked about their future. Talked about the day's events. Talked about their future. Talked about anything under the sun. And in between topics, they would cuddle and exchange passionate kisses, until their kisses escalate to groping, and the next thing they knew they were on top of each other, caught in the heat of their lovemaking.

On nights like this, she held him in his arms.

Helga gazed at the cigarette smoke as it drifted away from her, and watched it as it diffused and disappeared from sight. As evanescent as the smoke, so was whatever existed between them as well. If only she held on a little longer…

Another's, he might be another's. _Over my dead rotting corpse_, she thought. They would have to answer first to Old Betsy and the Five Avengers before someone else could have him.

But he is not hers. Was she acting too possessive, she thought. What gives her the right to own him:? On the other hand, what merits the reasons _not to own_ him? Was her seeming betrayal in the past not enough to sever her emotions for him?

She felt her scar on her shoulder. It still aches during the cold nights. A painful reminder of the events five years ago…

If she had only pulled the trigger back then, then she would not have sunk in this anguish…

Arnold. Her sole weakness. Her favorite mistake. Her cain.

She reached for the remote control. And hit the play button. The opening bars started playing, and she broke a bittersweet smile as she digested the lyrics.

"_I must be such a bore, you've got one eye on me, one eye fixed on the door__  
__You can't resist its pull, so go ahead and bow to the inevitable__  
__I still get my say, I've spent all day writing on your wall in a back-stab slash-cut scrawl, says, this ain't my number, and baby, don't cal__l_

_And don't the blood feel good welling up in your chest?_

_Well baby, don't you feel good, don't you feel blessed?__  
__Just a taste the second time will keep you wanting more so fuck that dirty motherfucker like a motherfucking whore_

_Don't just stand around, if you're giving up then you're going down__  
__There's the plank, here's a tip - keep a hold of your valuables when jumping ship__  
__This is your reward, but where the party's at is overboard, and you're hunched and teetering on your heels, wondering how good drowning feels_

_Well, don't the blood feel good welling up in your chest?__  
__Well baby, don't you feel good, don't you feel blessed?__  
__Just a taste the second time will keep you wanting more so fuck that dirty motherfucker like a motherfucking whore_

_You don't even try, oh look, something's caught your eye__  
__And I bet you feel a shiver in your spine 'cause it's got to be gold, baby, if it shines__  
__And I got no line, I got no hook__  
__And it ain't mine, that bait you took__  
__I know your kind, and I know that look__  
__One part divine, and two parts crook_

_Well, don't the blood feel good welling up in your chest?__  
__Well baby, don't you feel good, don't you feel blessed?__  
__Just a taste the second time will keep you wanting more so fuck that dirty motherfucker like a motherfucking whore…"_

She smiled bitterly as she took a lust puff from her cigarette and crushed the butt on the ashtray.

"_Motherfucking whore… yeah right…"_

* * *

Arnold ordered another shot of Jack Daniel's from the bartender. The jazz band just finished their set, and he needs something to take his mind off Helga. Alcohol seems to dull his bitterness that reigned within him. It will be a few minutes before the next band's set starts.

Blue Haze. This is his favorite getaway when he was still a cop. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city. He would often come here with Helga back then. He let out a bittersweet sigh. He gazed at the table in front of the stage, their favorite spot, where they enjoyed the soulful jazz music while snuggled at each other.

On nights like this, he held her in his arms.

He gulped down the remaining whiskey in his glass before bitterness finally overcomes him.

Helga. How he loved her. He could bring himself to fully hate her, not matter how deep her betrayal was in the past. No matter if his life hung in a balance, whether if she will flick her trigger finger by an inch or not. No matter if she could have sent blazing slugs into his heart and shatter it into pieces.

This is love. And love hurts.

He hated to admit it, but she is his yin to his yang. His cain. His favorite mistake.

The feedback from the microphone broke Arnold from his thoughts. The next band was setting up and tuning their instruments. After a few minutes, the vocalist took the mic. He was a tall white guy who seemed to be in his late twenties.

"Hey guys. Welcome to our second set. We're the _Aubrey's Rage_ band. Don't ask who the hell Aubrey is. Hehe," the audience halfheartedly laughed with the vocalist.

"Anyway, here's our first song. This if for the guys out there who are drinking their love's sorrows away tonight. It's _'I Cry Alone'_ by Black Keys," he then nodded to his bandmates. They then started playing the opening bars. Arnold watched and listened to them intently.

"_My girl, my girl had a hold on me  
So tight, so tight that I could not see  
Girl, she had a hold on me, she held so tight that I could not see  
My girl, my girl had a hold on me_

_One day, one day I let her go  
It hurt, it hurt so, you'll never know  
The day I had to let her go, it hurt so bad that you cannot know  
One day, one day I let her go_

_At night, at night I cry alone  
I weep, I weep 'til the early morn'  
At night, I cry alone, I weep all night, til the early morn'  
At night, at night I cry alone…"_

"_And the gods of irony must be having a field day tonight…" _ he smiledbitterly. He raised his glass to gulp down its remaining contents, only to find out it was empty.

"One more round of whatever he's having," a soft voice called out. He turned to the source of the voice, only to find a blonde lady beaming at him.

"_Helga? No…"_

He smiled back at the blonde, "Uh…thanks."

"No biggie," she said sweetly. Mid-twenties. She was wearing a nice black dress. Her blonde curls flowed freely on to her bare shoulders. Her violet eyes sparkled at him, alluring him with her charm. _Elizabeth Taylor eyes,_ he thought.

_Almost Helga, minus the permanent scowl, _he thought and smiled. But why did he have to keep on thinking about her? She was not with him, and yet his arms long for her.

"I like that song," she broke the silence. The bartender returned with their drinks. She took her glass and raised it.

"Ever has it been that love knows not its depth until the hour of separation," she said to him.

He smiled, "_The Prophet_, by Kahlil Gibran, I believe?"

She nodded, "For love lost, and never found."

"Cheers," he clinked his glass unto hers and gulped half of its contents.

She's smart, she sounds knowledgeable in prose and poetry. She's perfect, only that he just met her five minutes ago.

"By the way, I'm Arnold. And you are?" He reached out his hand to her.

She ignored his hand and took off from her seat after downing her whiskey in a single gulp. She then walked closer to him, drew close to him, and whispered to his ear.

"Jack Daniel's. I like your taste," she whispered, and then slipped over a small card on to his hand.

"Call me," she whispered before she playfully nipped his earlobe and headed off to the exit.

He was dumbstruck for a moment. He then looked at the card as the blonde made her way out of the door, momentarily turning and giving him a wink.

"_Neptune…315-1583…"_

He then kept the card in his coat pocket. Neptune. Was that even her name? He will definitely call her.

"_Such a mysterious girl…" _he sighed before finishing off the remaining whiskey in his glass in a single gulp.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this one. There goes Nep2uune's cameo role. Expect her to return in a few chapters. Don't forget to read and leave reviews! ^^,**


	7. Act 4: Bohemian Rhapsody

**Enough with Arnold x Helga, now it's time for some action. And carnage. **** Conversations that are in bold typeface are in Japanese.** Don't forget to leave reviews. ^^, I highly appreciate it. Thanks for your continued support, and I hope you like this.

**WARNING: This chapter contains sexual and violent scenes. **

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**Act 4: Bohemian Rhapsody**

Keichi Matsumoto paced back and forth in his rented hotel suite, impatiently looking at his watch. 11:35 PM. She's late. Madame Cecile was running late in delivering her "goods" this time around. This was not the first time she subscribed to her "services". Usually, she delivers her goods at the exact appointed time and place.

He sat on the side of his king-sized bed and picked up the violet card laying on the bedside table. It was a scented card with bold letters spelling out _"Perfumed Garden" _embossed on it. On the background was a silhouette of a woman in a sultry pose. Below the card was Madame Cecile's number.

He took out his cell phone and dialed the number on the card. After few rings, a woman with a thick French accent answered.

"_Bonsoir, Monsieur…"_

"Madame Cecile, I expect the _goods _to be delivered on time."

"_Oui, oui, _Monsieur Matsumoto. I apologize for ze delay. Ze goods should be there in ze hotel in five minutes."

"I'll be expecting that. Otherwise, you'll _definitely_ hear from me." He pressed END and threw his phone to his bed. He won't let this little setback wreck his mood for tonight.

Keichi doesn't usually go out to celebrate, but when _does_, he does it alone and for a reason. Tonight, he successfully brokered a deal between his boss, Saburo Ichimonji, and Mr. Chau, the notorious Triad boss who held control of the Chinatown underworld. The successful alliance between their clan and the Triad would ease the passage of their "goods" and "services", bringing more income to both underworld groups. More income means more power. This would strengthen their position in East Hillwood underworld. He served his "liege lord" well, and he deserved a celebration for achieving something others thought was impossible: bringing peace between the Yakuza and the Chinese Triad, wherein their respective countries the two shared a bitter, and often bloody, rivalry.

"_Might as well as treat myself to a whore," _he thought early that night as he checked in the hotel. He called Madame Cecile and specifically ordered a _"special treat"_ for himself. The French pimp (with a suspiciously fake-sounding accent, but he dismissed it as a cheap gimmick to add "class" to her otherwise skanky business) happily obliged and filled him in with the details. Satisfied and having reached an agreement on the mode of payment for her services, he hanged up, and waited.

He lied back on his bed and gazed at his reflection on the mirror on the ceiling. Early thirties, hair cropped short, stocky build, not bad-looking. He has a wife, but their marriage was arranged and made out of convenience, a common practice in his country. His sex life with her was rather carried out out of duty as a good husband. He was always looking for the animalistic passion and fury that would make his blood seethe with desire. Here, he can indulge in his wildest desires. Who says he has no right to splurge tonight, when he accomplished a monumental feat of bridging the two biggest Asian underworld groups. There may be animosity that may arise from this alliance, but at least this was a good start for them. At last, this was something he longed for. Something he will be remembered for. Something…

**TOK! TOK! TOK!**

The knock on the heavy wooden door broke his thoughts. He got up and looked at his Breguet watch, which was bestowed to him by Ichimonji for his accomplishment. 11:40. Five minutes, as promised by Madame Cecile. Talk about prompt service.

"Come in," he said in a deep voice.

The door slowly opened and a young Asian in a schoolgirl uniform slowly and shyly made her way in. from her looks, she appears to be a bit mature-looking than a typical Asian teenager, but she looked innocent and meek enough to fit the bill. He grinned at the sight of her. Now, time to indulge in his fetish for underage Asian schoolgirls. _Madame Cecile really knew how to deliver the top goods,_ he thought.

She was just there, standing and fidgeting, looking down at her shoes. She was wearing a typical school uniform Japanese high school girls wear: navy blue plaid mini-skirt, knee high stockings, matching navy blue blouse, and navy blue scarf. She's carrying her backpack, and a cylindrical Rotring plastic case was slung over her back

**(A/N: To help you visualize what she looked like, I modeled her after Saya from **_**Blood: The Last Vampire. **_**Look up an image of her to get the****visual of this scene)**

"I'm so sorry if I'm late, sir. I have to attend my after-class review school…and I have a couple of projects I needed to finish," she apologized in her squeaky voice, keeping her gaze on the floor, her straight raven black hair covering most of her innocent face.

Keichi smirked at her, _"Anata wa Nihon-shin desu-ka? _(You're Japanese, right?)_"_

She nodded and bowed slightly, _"Hai…"_

"**I knew it. You have that certain drawl unique to us," **he said in Japanese. She just nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on the floor, fidgeting.

"**Do you have a name?" **He stood, walking closer towards her.

"**Sa-…Sakura…"**

"**Sakura," **henoddedknowingly at her. Madame Cecile's girls were always named after flowers. The first girl he has was a brunette named Rose. The blonde he had next was Hyacinth. The redhead he had the last time was Lily. As this high school girl was Sakura, the Japanese cherry blossoms. The name fitted her like a glove. He drew closer to her and stroked her hair. Seemingly not used to being touched this way, she flinched a bit and turned her head away from his hand. He grinned seeing her like this. So innocent, so fresh. Just the way he liked it.

"**How old are you?"**

She was silent, her eyes shut, wincing away from his advances.

"**Si-…sixteen…"** she weakly replied.

"**Sixteen?" **he smirked at her as he let his hand crawl over on to her chest, cupping her breast with his hand.

"**But **_**this**_** doesn't feel like sixteen," **he chuckled nastily, mashing her breast. She shuddered as Keichi went on with his work.

"**No…please, stop…" **she tried to push his hand away vainly, but later found herself engorged with pleasurable sensations that her body started to move in sync by itself with Keichi's hand.

She let out a soft moan as she gave him a half-lidded gaze. He grinned at her, getting pleasure at seeing her like this.

"**I know you will like this too," **he whispered on to her ear, then kissed and slipped his tongue, lapping her ear as she winced, pushing him away weakly.

"**Sir…stop, please…I beg of you…"** she whimpered, finding little strength to push him away. He drew away from her, giving her an impish grin.

"**Is this your first time?"**he inquired.

"**Yes…no…" **she replied softly, looking down at her feet, still fidgeting.

_Oh how cute she looked_, he thought. Not giving in to his advances so easily like a typical whore who would easily welcome him with open arms and legs, but resisting in an innocent, futile manner. Whether she was just putting up and act or not, the animal within Keichi stirred, fuelled with the passion that his inordinate fetish for underage girls could only offer.

"**Put down your things over there. I don't want you to be burdened."**

Sakura meekly nodded, putting down her backpack and the cylindrical case on the floor. He then held her tiny shoulders and forcefully shoved her to his king-sized bed.

She fell on her back, letting out a little whimper. Before she could react, he was over her. He smothered her neck with kisses, ravaging her young body like a hungry beast relishing a freshly killed prey. He tore open her school uniform, snapping a few buttons off her dress. She squirmed helplessly underneath him, weakly pushing him away.

"**Sir…please…stop…no…" **she whimpered. Her pleadings were stifled when Keichi's hand found its way underneath her skirt and on to her crotch. He began kneading a certain spot between her legs. Her back arched and she moaned in her squeaky voice. He kept pressure on that spot until the sheer fabric separating his finger and her cunt was moist.

"**You like it, huh?" **he asked her, to which she nodded weakly. He planted his lips unto her, his tongue parting her thin lips and exploring her mouth. She finally stopped pushing him away and gave in to his advances. Soon, her body was moving in sync with his. She then drew her head away from his, breaking away from her hungry kisses.

"**Sir, please lie back…I'll be the one who will take care of you…" **she said, her eyes fixed on his steely raven-black eyes.

He was taken aback by her boldness. This seemingly meek and innocent schoolgirl has a feisty side. He surely got more than he bargained for. He obliged and lied on his back, prompting Sakura to start her _"repertoire"._

She straddled him and planted her lips unto his. Her hands drew to his crotch and started stroking his already-erect cock underneath his pants. He wrapped his arms around her as she kissed and caressed his ear and neck with her tongue. He groaned a bit, savoring the pleasurable sensation that was slowly engulfing him.

She then withdrew from him and sat his crotch, her knees on the bed. She flashed an impish grin. Her demeanor was different now compared to what she seemed to be when she first entered the hotel suite.

"**Hold still, sir. I know you would **_**love**_** this," **she slipped off him and headed to her backpack on the floor. She then produced two pair of handcuffs, and wen6t back to straddling Keichi, and brandished them in front of him, flashing him a mischievous grin.

_Wow, and innocent, meek schoolgirl now turned into a wild, feisty sex nymphet,_ he thought. And she's into bondage too. _Swords and bullets may break his bones, but chains and handcuffs excite him_, he sniggered to himself quoting that Rihanna song. She leaned forward to him, still straddling him and…

_**CLICK! CLICK!**_

…with a deft move, she slipped the handcuffs on both of his hands and bound him at the bedposts of the opposite sides of the bed. This is getting better and better. Madame Cecile really knew what he wanted, and she delivered perfectly to exceed his expectations.

She tore open his shirt, and leaned down to kiss his belly and sweeping upwards, kissed and sucked his nipples. He let out a groan, squirming around when he tried to wrap his arms around her, only to restrained back by the handcuffs. She nibbled his nipple a bit, knowing that a little bit of pain turns him on. And how right she was. He was moaning and arching his back, squirming helplessly as she stroked the length of his cock while nibbling his nipple.

She then paused and straightened herself up, looking at him with her dark eyes. She then flashed a grin. It's not her usual teasing, impish grin, but a malevolent, devilish one. He froze at that sight, gulping hard. Is this one of her tricks, or…?

She slipped off him and took her cylindrical Rotring case. She turned to him, and twisted off the cap of the case, revealing a sword's hilt. His eyes widened, and before he could even react….

_**SWISH! SWOOSH!**_

"GYAAAAAAHHHH!" he screamed as the cold steel quickly sliced through his thighs in two quick slashes. He thrashed about helplessly, blood spurting freely from his almost-severed thighs. He looked in front of him, only to see two steely dark orbs glowering down at him. No longer an innocent, meek, seemingly sexually-repressed schoolgirl, but a cold-blooded raven-haired angel of death, brandishing sa bloodied _katana_.

"**Who…who the fuck are you?! What do you want?!" **he screamed at her, his voice quivering from terror. She replied with a terrifying silence., pacing around the king-sized bed now slowly being soaked with Keichi's blood. His face was now pale, both from terror and blood loss.

"**What the hell do you want?! Money?! You can take my wallet! It's all yours!"**

Still, nothing but her unearthly silence. She pointed the tip of he5r bloodied blade on his neck, and traced a bloody line down to his chest, and settled on his belly. He winced at the cold steel running through his skin.

_**TSSHHVP!**_

With a quick thrust, she buried her blade into his belly. He let out a blood-curdling scream. The hotel suite was soundproofed, so no one outside could hear his screams. She was glaring at his terror-stricken face with her cold steely eyes. She gripped the hilt of her sword, and slowly twisted it, intensifying his screams. Her face didn't show any pleasure, anger, and any emotions at all. Just a cold, stony gaze.

"**You bitch…you will not get away with this….Ichimonji-sama will find out…the clan will hunt you….you will be lucky….if they give you…a swift clean death…"** he threatened her, having out his every word. Deep inside, he knew this was in vain, as he was under her mercy.

She shuddered upon hearing Ichimonji's name. She quickly pulled out her katana out of his belly. He let out another scream. She straddled him mercilessly, his blood smearing her legs and skirt. She leaned down unto him, resting her blade on to his neck. She fixed her gaze on to him, who was now gurgling, blood spouting out of his mouth. She looked darkly at him.

"**Who...who are you…what…what do you…want?" **he wheezed, forcing every word out of him. She gave him a cold reply.

"**Vengeance."**

With a quick movement, she ran her blade through his neck, slicing through his flesh and throat like a hot knife through butter. He opened his mouth in a soundless scream, but instead of his voice, blood gushed forth along with his dying breath. Blood sprayed freely from his throat, and splashed some on her face and clothes.

She felt something warm and thick running down from her forehead, and to her cheek. She wiped it off and looked at her hand. Blood. She looked at her hand in horror. She then looked at the bloodied corpse she was straddling upon. His head was almost severed from its place, his guts almost spilling from the gash on his thighs, blood now almost drained and completely soaked through the sheets and mattress. She shrank back in horror, almost falling off the bed. She quickly sheathed back her bloodied katana, picked up her backpack, and rushed out of the room without ever turning back.

She then ran and ran, and ran aimlessly. Barefoot, almost half-naked, smeared with blood, she ran. Ran aimlessly along the hallways of the hotel. She just wanted to get away, away from it all. She looked at the walls. The people on the portraits and paintings that adorned the walls seemed to look down at her, mocking her, screaming at her.

"_Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!"_

She covered her ears, tears flowing freely from her eyes as she ran aimlessly along the hallways. It's no use. She can still hear them, as if they were speaking directly to her thoughts. The madness that was slowly overtaking her was getting unbearable.

"_Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!"_

"No! No! No!"

She needed to get out of this cursed place. She turned at every corner, hoping for an escape. A door with a green EXIT sign appeared on last turn. Without thinking, she shoved the door open and headed up the winding staircase. She didn't know and care where it leads to, so as long as she could get away and make the voices stop. She ran and ran, and disappeared into the darkness of the winding staircase.

* * *

Two shadows stood atop the misty rooftop. The petite shadow hunched near the edge while the tall shadow stood beside her. The petite shadow was trembling, sitting in a fetal position.

"I…I have killed a man…a sword against his neck…blood gushing out…and now he's dead…" she sobbed.

The tall shadow drew closer to her, "Life has just begun. Your old life was now gone, and had been thrown away."

She helped the petite woman up on her feet, "Your hands are now stained with blood. You could not simply wash it away. It was your choice to walk this path, as I repeatedly told you before. As you are consumed with the desire to take one's life to fulfill your vengeance, then you must be ready to face the madness that comes with it, and to be ready to be haunted by the memories of those you killed."

She embraced her, and gave her a sisterly kiss, "You have to be strong. You have taken out one. We have three more left. Three more sacrifices to offer to your inner beast…"

The petite woman sobbed, "I don't know if I could still do this…after this…"

She hushed her," No. Stop it. You have go on. You have to do this. You _have to."_

"_We have to…"_


	8. Act 5: Paint It Black

**Hello, loyal readers. I apologize for the delay in updating this fic. I just got caught up in somle personal nd work-related stuff. But don't you worry. My updates will be regular and faster since I got my new China-made Android netbook with me. I just love my new netbook. God bless China and their cheap electronics. XD**

**So here are some pressing questions that begs to be answered:**

**Q: Are you sure that Hanako isn't Phoebe?**

**A: Yes, but hey, I could be lying about that one. *bwahahahaha!***

**Without further ado, I give to you ACT 5: Paint It Black. Don't forget to leave reviews!**

**Disclaimer and A/N: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters, and the song "Paint It Black" by Rolling Stones. The connversations in bold letters are in Japanese.**

* * *

**Act 5: Paint It Black**

Saburo Ichimonji sat on his chair by the fireplace staring at the flames that slowly consumed the logs. This morning, he has to attend the funeral of one of his most trusted retainers, Keichi Matsumoto. His family, the whole clan, important members of the Chinese Triad including Mr. Chau, and other key figures in the East Hillwood underworld were in attendance. The funeral procession was in all white: white limos, white funeral car, white chrysanthemum that decked the funeral car and the coffin. Everyone was in white. White, after all, was the color of mourning in their culture. The Shinto priests from a local temple led the procession through the thoroughfare of East Hillwood leading to the cemetery. A service was held before his coffin was laid to rest after his family and the rest of their clan paid their last respects to him.

He was murdered, found dead in a hotel suite, handcuffed on the bedposts, his bed drenched in his own blood. It was not a pretty sight. Fortunately, they had intercepted the news of Matsumoto's grisly demise before the police was able to make the murder public. They have to pull an awful a lot of strings to cover up the murder. Should this event make it to the public, that would spell the doom of the Ichimonji Holdings, the company that long served as a front for the illegal activities of the _yakuza_. The press would go gaga over the news, throwing shareholders and clients into a panic, leaving the company's finances into a ruin. Surely, he might be overreacting, but better to be safe than sorry, so they say. Ichimonji spent sleepless nights, making sure that the cover-up work was flawless, every small detail covered, leaving no loose ends. They made it appear that Matsumoto died of natural causes. They paid off everyone involved: the hotel staff who discovered his body, the cops who first responded to the scene, the coroner, the mortuary who did an excellent job of patching up the body to make it appear that he died of natural causes, and the press to make an announcement about Matsumoto's "untimely demise, died of heart attack in such a young age of 35".

Now that the cover-up was done, and Matsumoto was laid to rest, the daunting task of finding the one behind the murder. He spent sleepless nights, brooding in his study, waiting for the reports from his men and network of informants to come in. Any shred of info that may shed light on this mystery. A burning question begged, and needed, to be answered: who killed Keichi Matsumoto, and who might have benefitted most from this?

The Triad? They may have a long-standing spat in the past, but with their newly formed alliance, it would be a foolishness to do such act, let alone assassinate someone who successfully brokered the alliance. Matsuoto was popular and well-loved in the Triad, and even the most depraved in the Triad would never risk the ire of both Chau and Ichimonji, unless they had a death wish and wish to spell doom not only to themselves and their family. The Triad would benefit a lot from the said alliance, and the relationship that it took a long time to be forged by both side would not easily and dastardly be broken by such act.

The West Hillwood's underworld? Surely, they have all the motives for successfully driving a wedge between the alliance the _yakuza_ and the Triad, but no obvious efforts have been made to make it appear that the Triad had perpetrated the crime. Even though the Russians, Italians, and the Latinos have been long itching in getting their hands into the East Hillwood underworld market, their lucrative market in the West Hillwood had been successful enough to satiate their needs, if not their greed. If they were foolish enough to take on the East Hillwood underworld, now was the bad time to do so both the _yakuza_ and the Triad were both in their strongest. They would risk an all-out underworld war and severely weaken their influence and power whether they emerge victorious or not from the said conflict. No, the "westerners" would not risk this, and therefore could not have masterminded Matsumoto's murder. But nevertheless, he would keep an eye on them should they choose to take advantage of the situation.

Perhaps one of the disgruntled members of their clan? No, even though he rules their clan with an iron fist, he was benevolent enough to attend to their needs in exchange for their loyalty and services. Perhaps only the stupidest and most depraved member of the clan would do this, but as far as he knew there were no malcontents within their ranks. He has eyes and ears everywhere within their clan, so nothing goes in and out without his knowledge. If there was any malcontents or any plot, he had been swift to put it down and discipline them in the harshest way possible.

It might be there's a plot within their ranks against him, but now it was widespread that even his most loyal informers had been compromised. A seething sense of paranoia seized Ichimonji. Who could tell, the next target of the systemized assassination might be his inner circle and him. Or his whole inner circle might be behind this all along, just waiting for a right time to strike him down from his post as the leader of the clan. _Those ingrates, _he thought. He would summon each and one of them and check on their loyalties, and intensifying his spying on his own men. These days, you can't even trust even your own left hand, and it might even stab you by itself while you're not looking.

_**TOK! TOK! TOK!**_

Three loud knocks on the door leading to his study broke him away from his thoughts.

**"Come in,"** he said. A young Japanese man in his early twenties came into the study, holding a bulky manila envelop. He bowed down at him, and handed over the envelop to Ichimonji.

**"Is this the one I asked for, Takeshi-kun?" **he asked, fixing his eyes on him. He looked at him. He looks unnaturally handsome, or rather beautiful, for a man. A _bishonen _(beautiful man) type, as what Japanese teenagers in this time would refer to him. Raised and educated in the United States, he acts as Ichimonji's translator for his transactions with Westerners, as he had only limited command of the English language. He acts as his personal steward for his day-to-day tasks, such as relaying his orders to his underbosses and keeping track of daily transactions and affairs of the clan.

**"Yes,**** Ichimonji-sama. I had paid off the hotel security to give us the CCTV footage taken that night during Matsumoto-sama's murder, as you instructed," **he said in the most polite and formal tone he could manage. He fixed his soft eyes on Ichimonji's weary eyes. Greenish rings had formed beneath his eyes due to the sleepless nights he spent gathering reports, information, and pulling strings after Matsumoto's death. Though weary, his eyes was filled with fiery resolve to get his loyal retainer the vengeance he deserved.

**"Well done, my boy," **praised Ichimonji, to which he replied only with a slight smile and nod. He then opened the envelop and took out a CD from it. He handed back the CD to Takeshi.

**"Tell me what you have found out, my boy."**

Takeshi headed to the DVD player located in the middle of the study, pushed a button, inserted the CD, and pushed the PLAY button. Images of footage taken by the CCTV began playing.

**"Oni-san, I think we got our perpetrator caught in this footage. Who is she, who is she working for, and the reason behind for her action still eludes me."**

**"**_**She?**_**"**

**"Yes, oni-san. Matsumoto-sama's murderer is a woman, as you can clearly see on this footage."**

Ichimonji fixed his eyes on the widescreen TV. It was a footage of the empty hotel hallway, its walls decorated with paintings and portraits. Out of the corner of the screen, a young woman in a bloodied schoolgirl uniform came barging in, running aimlessly, her bloodied arms covering her ears as she staggered along the hallway.

**"There's our murderer. She's the only one recorded that came in Ichimonji's room, and came out approximately an hour after in this state."**

Ichimonji stroked his chin thoughtfully, **"Were you able to know who she was?"**

**"No, not yet, but we are working on it, oni-san. I have contacted the police, and according to them, they found Matsumoto-sama's cell phone and a calling card together with his body on the night of the murder. I have to pay them off a hefty sum for them to release those things to us."**

**"And what did you find out?"**

**"The last few calls in his logs was to an escort service agency, the same number found on the calling card found with him. The card is in the envelop together with the CD, oni-san."**

Ichimonji gingerly took out the purple calling card, and examined it closely.

**"Perfumed Garden," **he read out the embossed letters on the card. _Matsumoto, you horny goat_, he thought. He knew Matsumoto has a penchant for whores, young ones to be exact. He used to joke with him that his love for whores and women of questionable morals will be the death of him. And how right he was now.

**"We tried contacting the number, but it is no longer available. I tried asking around, exhausted all efforts to locate that escort agency, but it **_**never existed **_**to begin with. Which means..."**

**"Matsumoto's murder was carefully planned, and our murderer was not alone in this."**

**"Exactly, oni-san. Except that we do not have lead on that matter yet, unfortunately. I'm sorry and I beg for your forgiveness for this matter, Ichimonji-sama,"** Takeshi bowed low to him.

Ichimonji sighed upon hearing, **"It's alright, Takeshi-kun. I do not expect answers to come swiftly. Nevertheless, vengeance must be served, whatever and no matter how long it takes, for your Matsumoto-sama's sake."**

**"He was my **_**kouhai **_**(senior or mentor). The urgency of vengeance being served for his sake has not left me, oni-san," **he said, clenching his fists.

Ichimonji stood up and headed nearer to the widescreen TV, watching the footage play again and again. He stood like this, fixated on the image of a young bloodied girl running madly on the hallway.

_**"Who are you, you whore?! Why did you kill Matsumoto? Who are you working for? Who's with you on this?" **_he asked these questions as he watched the same sequence again and again. Takeshi stood back, reluctant to shake Ichimonji away from his fixation. He just watched his "liege lord" pathetically staring at the screen playing the same sequence over and over again for minutes.

Suddenly, a realization hit Ichimonji like a lightning bolt. He stood, his mouth open as he gazed closer on the image of the woman on the video.

**"Takeshi-kun! Come here! Pause the video right on my cue!" **Takeshi snapped from his thoughts and rushed towards the DVD,

**"Wait...wait...wait...there! Pause it now!"**

The video froze at the exact frame which the young woman was closest to the camera and, her full facial profile revealed onscreen.

**"Ichimonji-sama! Do you know who she is?"** Takeshi asked, unable to contain the excitement in his voice.

Takeshi's question was unheeded by Ichimonji as he paced nearer to the screen, fixing his steely gaze on the woman's face. His fiery resolve was suddenly replaced with shock when another realization hit him: he knew who the woman was, and he had seen her before.

_**"No...it can't be...it's her...but..."**_

**"O-...onryo..." **he mumbled unconsciously.

**"What?"**

**"It's an...onryo...you heard me right, Takeshi-kun...and onryo is now after us..."**

**"Onryo?" **he gave Ichimonji a puzzled look. He knew perfectly what an onryo was. It was a stuff of Japanese legends. It was a spirit of vengeance of a person who died in a violent manner. An onryo was said to come from that person's grudge, who then takes life of its own and seeks to satiate its vengeance. _**Ichimonji couldn't be serious**_, he thought.

Ichimonji continued to mumble soundlessly as he reached for the screen and touched the woman's face, **"Shinoda...Shinoda's onryo...she came for us...and she's coming for me..."**

He suddenly turned to Takeshi. His eyes were now no longer filled with shock and fixation, but with fiery resolve.

**"I know who killed Matsumoto. Now summon all our bannermen. We got work to do."**

Still puzzled by Ichimonji's sudden change in disposition, he absent-mindedly nodded and bowed.

**"Y-yes, Ichimonji-sama. I will send the summons right away."**

Ichimonji acknowledged him and dismissed him from his study. He then returned his gaze on the TV screen, which is still paused to the frame showing the blurry features of the woman's face. He smiled impishly at the screen.

_**"You think you can haunt me beyond the grave, Shinoda? Fat chance, you bastard. I made a mistake of giving you an honorable death and a chance for vengeance. I should have uprooted all your seed, instead of allowing it to sprout into a diseased weed..."**_

He then lit a cigar, and puffed the smoke towards the screen, creating a misty image of the footage.

_**"Sorry to disappoint you, Shinoda, but your pathetic soul will remain unavenged. You will stay in the depths of hell, wailing and cursing that your death's wish shall be unfulfilled. Tough luck, brother. Serves you right, you traitor...hehehe..."**_

He then broke out a maniacal laugh that echoed through the study and to the hallway outside.

* * *

She stood near the edge of the rooftop with her arms outstretched, as if a bird spreading its wings and catching the breeze to lift itself up to the skies, or a martyr being crucified on an invisible cross. The cruel cold breeze intensified into a gale, her hair and white dress flailing with it. The biting cold pierced through her flesh, and into her bones. she clenched herself, tensing her arms to prevent herself from shivering. The sheer scrap of fabric that covered her naked skin wasn't enough to ward off any cold.

Up here on this rooftop, she's free. The howling wind drowned out the voices that haunted her. The voices would first start with a whisper, then a mumble, then chant, and slowly they intensified until they were screaming at her.

Or rather, screaming _in her._

The wind offered her respite from the voices. Without it, they would seem to be ganging at her, surrounding her from all sides, creeping at her, groping her with their inky fingers. The wind, the wind, the wind was her best friend.

But as soon as it dies down, the voices will resume tormenting her.

_Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!_

As the wind slowly died down, the voices within her grew louder and louder. She hunched down, her knees drawn up to her chin, covering her ears in vain. She cried, sobbed madly, hoping that they will take pity on her.

No pity will be given to her. This was her path. This was what comes with the path she chose. In exchange for satisfying her wish, this was the price of them all. The torment of the unseen voices, the baleful eyes that stared upon her while she slept in pitch darkness, her sheets covering her head, the cold grope of unseen hands as she lies on he bed at night.

As days passed by, as she treads deeper into her chosen path, the torture within her becomes unbearable.

She's not crazy, she kept on repeating to herself. Right after taking her pills, the voices will die away until she could not hear even a whisper from them. After she downs the pretty blue pills and washes it down with a hard, burning bourbon shot, her body will be warm and she will no longer feel the cold groping unseen fingers. Right after she pops the pretty lipstick red capsules, the baleful eyes would be gone, and the dark corner will remain a dark corner, and her empty closet would just be another empty closet.

Oh how gladly she would sell her soul and whore her body out to the Devil himself to make these lull periods last. But often, these periods would last just as few hours before her tormentors would return. As days passed by, these periods get shorter and shorter until they last no longer than barely ten minutes. She could increase her dosage to achieve the same effect as with before, but the dosage she was on right now was enough to kill a normal human with overdose.

She tried humming a song she knows in a vain effort to drown out the voices with her own voice. When humming didn't work, she tried singing some of the lyrics that she remembered.

_"I see red door and I want it painted black...  
__No colors anymore I want them to turn black..."_

The voices then suddenly went silent. She look around, wondering what might have happened to them. She was about to jump for joy when the voices went back with full intensity and continued song, their pitch and tones harmonizing with each other like an unworldly choir, as if mocking her efforts to stifle them out.

_"I see people turn their heads and quickly look away...  
__Like a newborn baby just happens everyday..."_

The voices broke out in a chaotic mad laughter, and then proceeded to hum the melody of the song again and again, going louder every minute. She crumpled unto the ground, her hands on her ears, screaming madly, begging them to stop.

But they would not. They would not leave her. She then looked the rooftop edge. Oh snap, why she had not thought of this before, she thought. Of course, this was the easy way out away from her "tormentors", from all the madness, from all the shit that came with her so-called "chosen path".

Without any second thoughts, she dashed towards the edge and with a single bound, she was on to the air and her way down to the parking lot below building.

The rushing wind howled through her ears, effectively silencing any voice that would persist on mocking her with the humming melody. At las, she will free.

Truly free. And forever will be.

They say that it was not the fall that will kill you.

But it was the sudden...

_**BLAAAAG! CRASSSHHH!**_

...stop.

At last, she was truly free. Free from her tormentors. Her body bounced lifelessly like a rag doll from the car that she landed upon before bouncing and rolling unto the hard pavement with a dull thud. The deafening siren of the car alarm pierces through the silence of the night and into the darkness.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Arnold," Stinky Peterson greeted as he handed over a heavy rectangular suitcase to him.

"Uh, Stinky, my birthday was three days ago."

"I know, Arnold, but I reckon' I never had a chance to give you something, on the account that things had been busy here in the store. You had been a regular here since you were in the force, so I figured to give you somethin' special," he said in his usual Southern drawl, grinning at Arnold.

"Thanks, Stinky. Thanks for remembering," he beamed back at Stinky, then set the suitcase on the table. Gerald looked over Arnold's shoulder, eagerly looking at Stinky's present.

"Geez man, the suitcase ain't gonna open up itself. Go ahead."

Arnold gingerly undid the lock of the suticase and lifted it open, revealing a futuristic-looking assault rifle. Arnold's eyes widened upon realizing what the present was.

"An FN F2000?! Stinky, you shouldn't have..."

"I figured that bounty huntin' business for you and Gerald is gonna be tougher, so I reckon you could use a little firepower boost. So what better birthday gift to give you than an assault rifle. You used one of these things back in the force?" He grinned at him. After all, it was Arnold who convinced him that he could be good at something back in their grade school days. He finally to took up farming, and had a vast and successful farm in the countryside. Bored with the life in the farm, he sold it and moved back to Hillwood and, again following Arnold's advice, started a gun store, catering to the police and bounty hunters for their firearm needs.

Arnold nodded, taking the assault rifle out of the suitcase, weighing it and examining its features. Carbon fiber finish, red dot sights, compact bullpup design. Perfect for close-quarters situation. When things get heated on one of their raid, he could just whip this baby out and send a hail of bullets on the baddies' way.

Gerald drooled over Arnold's new firearm. He shot a glare to Stinky.

"Hey, how come I never got anything from you on my birthday?"

"Well, you got your shotgun with ammo included..."

"But I paid for that shit. You never gave it for free..."

"You got it for a discounted price. It was almost 75% off."

Gerald was about to snap a retort, but just wagged his finger at Stinky, "You owe me big time, Stinko."

"No, you still _owe me _for the pepper rounds you got last time. I put it under your tab, and I was just wondering when are you gonna settle that one."

"Don't worry, Stinky. I got it covered," Arnold cut in, taking out his checkbook and writing the amount of their tab for the pepper rounds they purchased for their last raid. He tore it off and handed it to Stinky.

"Gosh, Arnold, thanks! You can go downstairs at the range if you want to take your new baby for a spin."

"Sure, I may want to zero the sights for this baby so that it will be ready for action."

Stinky nodded and led the two downstairs to the basement which he converted into a shooting range for his customers to test out their guns. He handed a box of ammo to Arnold and Gerald. Not wanting to be left out, Gerald decided to brush up his handgun marksmanship by joining Arnold in the range. He took out his Desert Eagle, loaded the clip with ammo, donned the earmuffs that Stinky handed and started shooting at the target palette thirty feet away from him. Arnold have finished loading the magazine for his assault rife and carefully aimed at his own target palette. He then let out two short bursts, then looked at his palette which is now peppered with bullet holes.

_"A little off to the left," _he then twisted a knob on the sights of his assault rifle. He then aimed again and let out another short burst.

_"Too low,"_ he twisted the knob and set it up a notch. He then let out thre short bursts, and then looked at his palette. A group of bullet holes ripped the center of the palette. He then smiled at his work.

_"Dead center. Perfect." _He then ficked the safety of his rifle on, and handed it to Gerald, who was more than happy to give his new assault rifle a try.

Stinky was preoccupied watching the news on his small TV in the range. It's a wonder her can still hear the news amid the gunshots that rang in the range. Arnold joined him watching the news. Stinky handed Arnold a can of beer, which he graciously accepted.

_"On other news, Ichimonji Holdings CEO Saburo Ichimonji assured the shareholders and clients that their company will remain strong despite a sharp drop in the share prices following the sudden death of one of the major shareholders and member of the Board, Keichi Matsumoto. He recently died of a heart attack in his room at Lloyd-Wellington Regency Hotel in East Hillwood. Initial suspicions claim that there was foul play in his death, but police was swift to clear all suspicions and released the coroner's report, stating that Matsumoto's death was, indeed, due to a heart attack..."_

Arnold watched Stinky as he yawned watching the news. It was a slow news day indeed. No big news other than the usual crimes perpetrated in the city. Same old, same old. He sat back and stretched. He wished that the city bounty databse be updated as soon as possible so tthey can set their sights on a new target and break the monotony of "normal life".

Every day has always been the same. Wake up in the morning, run some mandatory errands like doing the grocery, going to the laundromat, then a trip to Stinky's gun store for a couple of beers while firing off a boxful of ammo before going back home to drown himself in a bottle of Jack Daniels, sleep, and wake up the next morning to repeat the same routine. Wash, lather, rinse, and repeat.

Except lately, there's a break with his normal boring routine. He had being seeing that hot blonde girl with sparkling violet eyes he met at the Blue Haze for two weeks now. They shared a lot in common: their love for poetry, jazz, firearms, and of course, hot steamy sex. He never got to know what her full name was, except fro the cryptic name "Neptune". It's her mystery that draws him to her. She was almost like Helga, minus the brash, blustery side and fiery temper. At least he has someone to break the monotony of his life...

_"...a woman was found dead in downtown Hillwood, after she committed suicide by reportedly jumping from the rooftop of Metrodorm Suites. She was identified as Phoebe Heyerdahl, age twenty-seven, a former biochemistry student in Hillwood State University. It can be recalled that Phoebe was the daughter of the Japanese businessman, Kyo Heyerdahl, who was brutally murdered five years ago..."_

Arnold and Stinky was dumbfounded upon hearing Phoebe's name, Arnold dropping his bear can on the floor, letting its contents form a puddle beneath his feet. They stared blankly on the screen flashing Phoebe's latest picture as the newsacter continued with the report, unable to process the news they just heard. Gunshots suddenly stopped, and was replaced by a muffled sound of a man madly wailing. Arnold turned to see Gerald crumpled on the floor, on his knees, his head almost touching the floor. He headed nearer Gerald, attempting to comfort him.

"Gerald, are you..."

"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed at him, showing him off, and went back to madly wailing, screaming Phoebe's name while babbling incoherently through his wails.

Arnold sighed, feeling helpless, unable to comfort his best friend. He turned to Stinky, who also shared the same helpless look as he was still dumbfounded to hear one of their former classmates untimely death. Arnold froze at his place, looking at Gerald with pity and sadness. Probably Helga was doing the same by now, he thought.

Gerald's wailing echoed through the shooting range, and lasted for almost an hour before he finally calmed down, Arnold and Stinky comforting him, who were also deeply saddened and also in tears with the news of Phoebe's suicide.

* * *

**Oh snap... XD**


	9. Act 6: Sound Of Silence

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters, the lyrics and the song "Dust In The Wind" by Kansas, and the song "Sound Of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 6: Sound of Silence**

Her name was Phoebe Heyerdahl, and she will be Phoebe Heyerdahl forever. They say that in order to achieve eternal youth, one must die young. And that's what she exactly did. In the minds of her friends and schoolmates who were present at her funeral, she will remain the young, smart, squeaky-voiced overachieving top student who was always Helga Pataki's sidekick and confidant, and Gerald Johannsen's lover, and not a broken, senile, old woman she would become fifty years from now.

The sky was overcast with dull gray clouds, a harbinger of heavy rains that threatened to pour on Phoebe's funeral. It was attended by mostly her classmates and a few friends. Her relatives from both her father's and mother's side were notably absent. _Even_ her own mother was nowhere to be found. But no one seemed to notice that. This was a moment of grief and mourning after all, not rumor-mongering.

Phoebe's black coffin was decked with flowers, mainly with yellow chrysanthemums and roses. A framed photo of her smiling sweetly without her trademark glasses on rested on an easel standing on front of her coffin. A violin quartet played solemn mourning music as each and one of her friends and classmates delivered eulogies for Phoebe as part of her memorial service. Helga spared no dime in making sure that her best friend would get the funeral that she deserved.

It was Helga who claimed Phoebe's body from the city morgue when the news of he suicide came out. Since no immediate family stepped in to claim her, Helga took the initiative. Her body was unrecognizable due to the extent of injury she received when she landed head-first on a car in the parking lot of the condo where she's staying. Even the best mortician in town could not restore her face to its former, pristine state so Helga decided that her funeral would be a closed-coffin affair. No one seemed to mind this. They would rather remember Phoebe as the beautiful, petite, smart Asian classmate than a bruised, crushed, mangled, disfigured corpse.

Helga stood with Hanako at the side of Phoebe's coffin, holding her arm. She was wearing a black Victorian mourning dress, complete with a matching black headdress and veil. She was sullen, weeping silently, evidenced by her red puffy eyes and black mascara trails on her cheek. Hanako had to draw away Helga's veil to wipe away her mistress's tears from time to time with her own hanky. Although not openly weeping as with her mistress, Hanako shared her sorrow over the loss of her best friend. She was wearing a black lolita-fashioned dress, which she thought appropriate enough for the occasion while keeping through to her Harajuku fashion preference.

Standing with Helga was Sid, Nadine, Eugene, and Lila, who all worked for her at the Elysium. Sid and Eugene were both wearing black suits and dark glasses to hide their red puffy eyes. Nadine was standing with Sid, clutching his arm. They recently got engaged and now living together. Her blonde cornrows she used to have back in grade school was now replaced with shoulder-length dreadlocks. Lila was wearing a black plaid mourning dress as well, openly weeping as she sobbed and wiped her tears with her hanky. Eugene stood by her and soothed her.

Curly and Rhonda was there was well, accompanied by their two burly bodyguards. Curly was in his expensive black Armani suit and wearing dark Bulgari glasses. Clutching his arm was Rhonda, who was in an expensive black fur coat and wearing a fishnet veil over her face. She still did not forget the little incident she had with Helga and Hanako back in the Elysium about a month ago, and she would occasionally look daggers at Hanako whenever their gazes meet. But she was not interested starting a scene right now, especially at Phoebe's funeral. She had it worse the last time at the Elysium. Not only that Curly slapped her twice while at the Elysium, but he beat her mercilessly when they got back home. At that point, she could have called it quits and went back to her family mansion, but she did not. There's something in Curly that she could not get enough. No matter how badly he abuses her the night before, he goes back to her twice as sweet the next day, showering her with gifts, attention, and love that she always craved for. In fact, she found herself getting pleasure from Curly's beating that she would even ask him to beat him for no reason at all, to which Curly happily obliges. She had a taste for bad romances, she often mused.

On the other side of Phoebe's coffin stood Arnold, Gerald, and their other classmates. Harold was with his wife, Patty, and their four-year old daughter. Park, Iggy, Brainy, Lorenzo, and Sheena stood together as they listened to Eugene who was now delivering his eulogy. Arnold was standing silently, sullen, his messy blond hair now neatly combed back. He would occasionally look at Helga, who stood on exactly the opposite spot across. Their gazes would sometimes meet, but they would both quickly avert their eyes away from each other, a biting sense of bitterness still pervaded between them. Clutching Arnold's arm was the beautiful blonde woman with violet eyes wearing a black mourning dress and fishnet veil. She looked sullen as well, sharing Arnold's sorrow over the loss of his classmate and friend. Arnold could've sworn he saw Helga looked daggers at him and woman he's with, but it's hard to tell with the veil covering her face. Whether Helga was jealous with him bringing her on Phoebe's funeral, now was the inappropriate time to go on a jealous outburst in which he best knew Helga was very much capable of. Perhaps it was a poor choice to bring her with him in this funeral. But what was done was done. She insisted going with him after all. Helga must be wise enough to hold her fiery temper and save her outbursts later.

Gerald was still inconsolable, still openly weeping and crying. Arnold and Stinky stood with him, patting his back, trying to console and soothe him to no avail. They can't help but to feel pity on their friend, who had turned into one big mush due to grief. They couldn't blame him for being like this. They had been lovers since their PS 118 days, and through high school and first years of college. When Gerald joined the Marines and got deployed to the Middle East, they pursued a long-distance relationships. During his short leaves, he would spend most his time with Phoebe. It was one of the happiest periods of his life. But the bliss they had was cut short by the tragedy the fell upon Phoebe's family. He was in the middle of his tour of duty in Afghanistan when the news of the murder of Phoebe's father reached him. He heard varying news about the murder and what happened after to Phoebe and her mother. Some say that it was a break-in, and Phoebe and her mother was sexually assaulted after Kyo had been killed. Some say it was either the Mafia, Yakuza, Triad, or any underworld gang was behind the murder, and both Phoebe and Reba Heyerdahl was traumatized after the events, and was sent to the mental ward. One thing was for sure: he lost contact with her after the tragic event. It was two years after the murder he was able to return to Hillwood. He could not get in touch with Phoebe. No one knew where, or what happened to her after the events. Not even Helga Pataki, her best friend, knew where she was or what happened to her after. It was as if she just disappeared into thin air after the heat from the murder had died down. Not even Arnold, who had just quit the police force back then, and his contacts within the police could not trace her whereabouts. He was at total loss back then. It's a good thing Arnold and him started their bounty-hunting business to help him take his mind off Phoebe.

And now, the news of Phoebe's suicide hit him like a hot sniper bullet. After more than five years, they have finally met again. But this time, Phoebe was no more than a cold corpse in a lacquered ebony chest. He wished he could see her peaceful serene face one last time, but Helga ordered the mortuary for this to be a closed-coffin affair. If he had his way, he would rush on to Phoebe's coffin and would pry it open, and gaze unto her no matter how mangled or disfigured her face was. But that would cause a scene, he thought. He decided against it. He would settle on gazing on Phoebe's portrait that rested on an easel before breaking down again in tears. He wished this was all a nightmare, and when he wakes up, Phoebe would be at his side, soothing him with her kisses. Or for this some kind of elaborate, albeit a sick and done in bad taste, prank where everybody would be laughing at the end, and Phoebe would be jumping out of nowhere to reveal the prank.

But alas, such was not the case. He was offered to give a eulogy, or say few words for Phoebe, but he simply could not do it. Phoebe's death had not yet fully sank in him. After Helga delivered her eulogy in tears, Hanako accompanied her back to her place, wiping her tears and tried to soothe her mistress. Eugene stepped forward and cued the violin quartet to play his piece. He began to sing as one by one those in attendance started put a white rose on Phoebe's coffin.

_I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment's gone_

_All my dreams passed before my eyes, a curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind..._

When it was Helga and Arnold's turn to out a rose on Phoebe's coffin, they stepped forward at the same time, Arnold with the blonde lady and Helga with Hanako. They put their roses at the same time, and their eyes met. They gazed at each other. Helga's sapphire eyes was still welling tears freely. It was not the usual eyes filled with spite or bitterness, not the same ones he last saw back in the Elysium. It was filled with grief. Arnold felt sorry for her. As if by some unspoken language, he slightly nodded to her, offering his deepest condolences. She nodded back as well, acknowledging his gesture. She then turned her gaze to the blonde lady who's with Arnold. She scrutinized her face and gazed at her violet eyes. Beautiful, looked smart, sophisticated, and elegant. At least she did not need to feel insulted, as Arnold found a fitting replacement for her who somewhat equals or exceeds her. She smiled slightly at her when their gaze met, which she returned with the same gesture.

It was Gerald's turn to place his rose on Phoebe's coffin. Everybody watched him as he was the last one to go. He stood there, in front of her coffin, frozen, staring blankly at it. He then laid the rose right on the center, and bowed down to kiss the coffin. He wrapped his arms around it, and broke down into tears. It is as if he wished to be glued there forever, to join his beloved to the cold depths of the earth. Arnold and Stinky have to soothe and console him before they could pry Gerald away from Phoebe's coffin. With Gerald calmed down, they finally lowered Phoebe's coffin down into the square hole dug for it, and then started dumping earth on it, signalling the end of the funeral.

The attendees finally dispersed, each approaching Helga and Gerald to offer their deepest condolences and sympathies. Helga gave Gerald a sisterly embrace before they both broke into tears. They may not have liked each other, and may not had been the best of friends, but they have lost someone both dear to them. That is at least something they could both agree on. It took a while before they separated. It was finally Arnold's turn to approach Helga. He gazed at her eyes, still filled with sadness, and embraced her tightly. It felt good to feel her warmth again, to feel her body close to his, to get a whiff of her perfume. But those were nothing but an echo of what used to be. But then again, he could not deny how he missed her.

They then separated, and the blonde woman approached Helga to offer her condolences. She hugged Helga, and they gave each other a sisterly kiss on the cheek. Before they parted, Helga whispered something to her ear, which left her puzzled as Helga smiled at them as she headed to her waiting car with Hanako.

Arnold, Gerald, and the blonde woman headed to Arnold's Packard, which he inherited from his grandfather and lovingly took care of after. Gerald sat on the backseat while the blonde lady sat on the passenger seat beside Arnold. It was quiet ride home, no one uttering a single word nor making any sound. Gerald looks calmer now, but he was just staring blankly on the window, lost in his thoughts. Arnold has his eyes fixed on the road ahead, focused on his driving. The blonde lady was staring blankly on the window, pondering on what Helga meant or what to make of what she whispered to her:

_"Take a good care of him, or else..."_


	10. Act 7: Nothing Else Matters

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters, and the song "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 7: Nothing Else Matters**

Through the dense evening fog, Arnold drove his Packard through the now empty streets of his neighborhood. He had to run some errands, mundane stuff like paying the bills, getting the grocery done, doing his laundry at the laundromat, etc. It had been almost two weeks since they attended Phoebe's funeral, and it seemed that all of that happened a long, long time ago. Nothing much had changed. The city is the same fetid city that it had become, crime rates were still on the rise, the police was still a cesspit filled with incompetent and corrupt men. They might have lost someone dear to them, but life has to go on, so they say.

But not for Gerald.

What worried Arnold was his best friend's condition since the news of Phoebe's death broke out. He became increasingly depressive, almost to the point that he would hole himself up in his room for the whole day, drowning himself in booze, and would pass out on the floor. He would only get out of his room to chow down any leftovers in the left, and cure his hangover with more booze, and the cycle then repeats itself. It's a good thing Gerald was staying with him in the boarding house, he could only shudder to think what his best friend was capable of doing if left to his own devices, given his state of mind.

He lost count how many times he berated his best friend for his worsening alcohol habit. He lost count as well on how many times he had gone home only to see Gerald passed out on the floor or on the bathroom tiles, drenched in his own vomit or piss. Or on how many times he had to help him on his feet, help him clean up, and tuck him into bed, only for Gerald to repeat the same the next day. He sometimes wanted to give up on him. Even a nice guy like Arnold could take only as much. But what would happen to his best friend if he kicked him out of the boarding house? He might end up in the streets, eventually do drugs, get into a life of crime, and one day someone might give him a call asking him to claim Gerald's body in the city morgue, ending up like Phoebe did. What a cruel irony it would be, he thought.

He can't give up on him. No, not in this moment that Gerald needed him most.

In order to stifle Gerald's growing alcohol dependency, he decided to keep all the booze in the house under a lock and key. Hopefully, without an easy access to alcohol, he would find something else worthwhile to do. He always brought the key with him to prevent Gerald from ransacking the house in search for it. He finally pulled up on the driveway of their boarding house and parked his car in the garage. He took out shopping bags from the trunk and headed up to the kitchen. It was quiet, _too quiet _for comfort. Could it be that Gerald was up to something? He hoped Gerald did not do anything stupid to satiate his craving for alcohol, like downing a bottleful of mouthwash, or if he was desperate enough, the drain cleaner. He entered the kitchen, and was frozen right where he stood on what he saw. He almost dropped his shopping bags upon seeing what had become of Gerald.

He was there, sprawling on the kitchen floor, mumbling, wailing, moaning, or whatever you might call the low drunken sound he was making. Empty whiskey bottles were littered around him. He held a half-empty bottle, but its contents were spilling on the carpet, drenching Gerald. Such a pathetic sight. But how the hell did he get all the booze?

Arnold looked around and saw a crowbar lying on the floor. Near it was a broken padlock and some wood splinters. Above was the cupboard where he kept all the booze in the house, widely open and the place where the padlock was held ripped , was Gerald this desperate and would resort to this? He grumbled as he headed to Gerald and stooped down to pick him up.

"Gerald, what the hell...?!" he snarled as he picked him up, dragged him to the living room, and propped him against the sofa like a rag doll.

"Phoebe...Phoebe...my babe..." he mumbled as he leaned lifelessly against the sofa.

"Gerald, what the hell were you thinking?! Jesus, look what have you become!"

Gerald replied with an incoherent mumble. Arnold gave him a disgusted look.

"You're a piece of work, Gerald. Is this how you want Phoebe to see you, huh?! A drunken loser who can't get his shit together?!"

Phoebe's name had a magical effect on Gerald, as he leapt up to his feet as if he was sober, and grabbed Arnold by his collar. He was seething, glaring at Arnold. But he seemed unfazed by Gerald's sudden outburst. He just smiled at him mockingly.

"Does the truth hurt, Gerald? That's exactly what you had become, a drunken loser! Dammit, Gerlad, if Phoebe was only here, she would be very disap-"

"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, YOU SONNOFABITCH! YOU NEVER LOST ANYONE DEAR TO YOU! YOU _NEVER_ DID! YOU GOT YOUR _BLONDE BITCH_ TO FUCK YOU TO KINGDOM COME, AND YOU GOT THAT _CRAZY-ASS_ PATAKI TAILING YOU LIKE A LOVESICK CRAZY _BITCH_! YOU NEVER KNEW HOW IS IT LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE! _NEVER_!" Gerald roared at him, his face just a few inches away from him. Arnold could smell his breath reek of alcohol. Gerald shook Arnold violently on every word he mouthed.

Arnold could barely breathe from Gerald's strangelhold. He's drunk, furious, and he's going to choke him to death. And worse of all, he's his _best friend_. He struggled to yank off his hands off him, but to avail. He's too strong for him. He could only think of one thing.

_**POOMPH!**_

He swiftly connected a strong straight kick on to Gerald's belly, causing him to release him and flinch back. Arnold fell back on the floor, coughed violently, trying to catch his breath. He then got up and saw Gerald crumpled on the floor. Arnold felt sorry for him, seeing his best friend in pain. He did not mean to hurt him, but Jesus, he's going to kill him if he did not kick his way free. He approached him.

"Gerald, are you-?"

_**OOOMMPH!**_

Gerald managed to throw a quick uppercut. He almost missed Arnold by inches, but managed to connect half of his fist on Arnold's jaw, sending him reeling back, crashing on the lampshade, breaking it into pieces. Arnold was dizzy from Gerald's punch. If he hit him squarely on the jaw, that would have knocked him down for good. It's a good thing he's drunk, he thought.

Arnold staggered back to his feet, trying to fix his gaze on to Gerald who was staggering towards him, and as if preparing to throw another punch. This time, Gerald being drunk and all, was slower than usual. He was able to anticipate his punch, move a little to the side as he sluggishly threw his right fist towards him, and...

_**WHOOMPH!**_

...connected a fierce counterpunch that landed squarely on Gerald's jaw, sending him reeling on the floor. That should take care of it. He wondered if he could still bounce back after receiving such blow, but Arnold doubt he would. Arnold drew close on Gerald, glowering down on him.

"Yes, I _do have_ an idea on how it feels to lose someone dear, Gerald. Do you have an idea how it feels to lose the only two people in the world you consider as _family_?! Do you have an idea how it feels like to be betrayed and stabbed in the back by the _only woman_ you loved?! Do you have an idea how it feels like to know that the only thing that you held to, the only thing that kept your hopes alive _is a lie, _that your whole life had been a _lie_?!" Arnold hissed at Gerald. He only replied with a grunt as he struggled back on his feet.

"I thought so..." he drew his face closer to Gerald. "So don't you _ever_ accuse me of not knowing how it feels like losing someone..."

Gerald suddenly grabbed Arnold's sleeve. Arnold clenched his fists, preparing himself for another round of fisticuffs. He's more than happy to beat Gerald to the pulp tonight, if that what it takes to beat some sense into him. Gerald tried to pull himself up, using Arnold as support. He held his bruised face up and met Arnold's glare. The anger that burned on his eyes were now gone, replaced by helpless blank stare. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words game out. Instead, sobs came out as Gerald collapsed into tears and buried his face unto Arnold's chest. Arnold's fury suddenly died down and was quickly replaced with pity for his best friend. He patted his back, letting him cry and wail like a baby.

"I'm sorry Gerald. I know how Phoebe was dear to you. She was dear to all of us. But..." Arnold can't bring himself to say _"move on now, Gerald. Stop being a loser and get your shit together." _without risking another round of fisticuffs with his bestfriend. His jaw still hurt badly from Gerald's uppercut, and he does not want another bruise or get his nose broken by his best friend.

"But you don't want Phoebe to see you like this, if she was still around, right?" he said soothingly. "She wanted you to be strong, like a strong guy you always had been. You don't want her to be disappointed with you, right?"

"I...I love her, man...I love her...more than anything..." Gerald said in between his sobs.

"I know, dude. We all love her. But what better thing there is than to honor her memory by living your life to the fullest, instead of wasting it in this way."

Gerald did not reply. He only wailed as Arnold held him tighter.

Arnold let him wail for a few minutes before he calmed down. He knew that this had solved this problem _only for tonight._ God knows what could happen for the next evening once Gerald had relapsed to his alcohol habit. It will be a gunfight the next time around for sure instead of fisticuffs that ensued tonight. He better start locking their guns too if that's the case. He needed to give Gerald a good reason to straighten his act up. "What would Phoebe think of you if she was around" reason wasn't enough. No, he have to come up with a better one.

"Gerald, I promise, we'll get to the bottom of Phoebe's death."

Gerald stopped sobbing and gave Arnold a puzzled look.

"Gerald, Phoebe killed herself, but for sure, there's a reason that pushed her into doing it. We'll get to the bottom of it. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with her father's murder. Whatever it takes, however long it takes us, we'll get to the bottom it."

"But Gerald, I can't do this without you. I cannot do this alone. We're partners. I need you in this. For your sake. For _Phoebe's sake."_

Arnold extended his hand to Gerald, whose eyes are now welling with tears, not out of sorrow, but out of joy and renewed hope.

"What do you say, Sheriff?"

Gerald smiled as he reached Arnold's hand and did their secret handshake, something that they shared since childhood.

"Count me in, Deputy."

Arnold then helped Gerald back to his feet, "Now let's get you cleaned up. Damn, this place is a mess. I'll go and get the ice pack. Dammit, my jaw hurts. You pack a mean punch, Gerald."

#################

"Miss Pataki, I presume?"

Helga looked up to see who it was. It was the blonde lady with violet eyes beaming at her.

"Yes, I'm her."

"Oh, mind if I join you on your table?"

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

The blonde lady then sat across Helga. It had been a slow day in Elysium with few of their patrons stopping by for a few drinks before leaving. There's nothing much to manage, as there's less patrons to deal with for tonight. The dance floor was almost empty save for a few yuppies who happened to venture in her club. The VIP lounge was almost empty, except for a two or three guests that came for Foxy Leona's, or Lila's, set. Sid could take care of them easily. She does not to micromanage each and one of them, especially in this slow evening. Helga was just sitting on her booth, downing a few shots of vodka when this blonde lady came by.

She quickly recognized her. She's Arnold new girlfriend, the one he brought with him at Phoebe's funeral. What the hell was she doing here? Was she here to confront Helga, to flaunt how Arnold was head over heels _gaga_ over her. If she's planning to start a scene here, then she chose a bad place, Helga thought. She must has a death wish or something. She's in her turf. She could do something worse than what happened to Rhonda back then. She got acquainted with "Old Betsy" that time, maybe little miss blondie here wants to meet "The Five Avengers" this time around, Helga thought.

"Aren't you the one with Arnold during my best friend's funeral?" Helga asked the blonde lady, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Yes, I am," she replied, keeping her upbeat tone. "I am truly sorry for your loss. Arnold told me how dear she was to you. If there's something I could do to help you..."

"You could start by sharing a drink with me," Helga grinned slyly at her. "You drink?"

The blonde smiled back, "I will happily oblige to that. Waitress-" "Hanako." They simultaneously called out to Hanako, who was standing nearby. She then headed to their booth.

"Yes, milady? Anything I could get you?" she asked in her usual cheery, squeaky voice.

"Vodka, doubles for me, the usual stuff. And how about you?" she turned to the blonde,.

"Jack Daniels, doubles, on the rocks."

"Right away, miladies," Hanako chimed before heading back to the bar too prepare their drinks.

Helga grinned at the blonde lady, "Looks like Football Head is starting to rub on you, huh? Jack Daniels is his favorite drink."

She chuckled softly, "Football Head. Is that what you used to call him?"

"Yeah, since grade school. It sorta became my pet name for him."

"Football Head," she giggled some more. "I'll sure have a swell time calling him that."

_"Don't you dare, you bitch! I'm the only one who can call Arnold Football Head!"_ Helga thought as she shot a smile at her.

"So, you must be Arnold's ex-"

"Ex-girlfriend?" Helga completed her words. How that word made her insides burn. _Does this heartless blonde bitch have really to rub this fact in? _Helga thought. Talk about salting the wounds. She continued looking at her. Sweet, elegant, smart-looking, a face that definitely asks for her fists to pummel mercilessly.

"Um, I'm so sorry," she suddenly changed her tone from a cheery to sullen.

"Sorry for what?" Helga asked, raising an eyebrow. _"Yeah, you better be sorry for stealing my Arnold away, you blonde whore!"_

"Back at your best friend's funeral, I guess I was a bit too clingy with Arnold. I never considered your emotions back then, I mean-"

"Save it, lady. You have nothing to be sorry," assured Helga.

"But you whispered back then-"

"Arnold is very much dear to me, and it would cause me much pain to see him hurt by you, should you choose to break his heart. I'm not threatening you. I'm concerned with Arnold, that's all."

"Geez, thanks, Helga," she smiled at her, an audible sigh of relief was heard coming from her.

"Don't mention it," she then lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and blew the smoke towards her. "Don't mind me, I'll find someone like him. I wish nothing but the best for the two of you."

She chuckled a bit, "Oh my God, did you just quote an Adele song?"

"Well, it's better than 'Call Me Maybe', right?" Helga laughed. Hanako then returned with their drinks. Hanako served the vodka to Helga, while Jack Daniels to the blonde lady. Helga then raised her glass and smiled at her.

"To love lost," Helga said.

"And finaly found," she continued, clinking her glass on Helga's. Helga shot a momentary glare on her as she sipped her glass. She then smiled at her, and then downed the vodka in a single swig.

_"Fuck you, bitch."_ Helga thought as she continued smiling at her.

"Oh snap," Helga said. "Here I am, drinking with you, and I don't even know your name, except as 'Miss Arnold's-Blonde-Replacement-For-Helga-G.-Pataki'," she chuckled. "So what does Arnold call you?"

"Neptune," she replied. "Everybody calls me Neptune."

"Neptune," Helga nodded thoughtfully. "That's a...unique name."

_"What kind of dumb name is 'Neptune'?!" _Helga thought, still smiling at her.

"So what do you do, Neptune?" Helga continued asking.

"Oh, I'm into importing goods. Products. Something that you might be interested in, Helga," Neptune smiled slyly at Helga.

"Like what?"

Neptune smiled, and leaned closer to Helga, "Kalashnikovs."

Helga was startled at first upon hearing that, but then smiled impishly at Neptune.

"Oh you got my attention, girlfriend. Tell me more."


	11. Act 8: Live For This

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters, and the song "Live For This" by Hatebreed to which this chapter was named after.**

**This chapter is updated while on my vacation in Bali. So from Bali, I present you this chapter.**

**Act 8: Live For This**

"So do we have a deal, Miss Neptune?"

The blonde looked at her champagne glass, watching her effervescent drink, gazing at the bubbles rise and hiss as she lazily twirled her blonde curls with her finger. She then took a sip, and then fixed her gaze at the other blonde lady's sapphire eyes, smiling.

"Moet en Chandon. I didn't know you got a refined taste, Helga. I take that you're more into harder stuff, like vodka, whiskey, and such," she said.

"I am still _capable_ of being sophisticated, believe it or not, Neptune," Helga snapped back, but maintaining her composure and her smile, keeping her gaze fixed on to her violet eyes. "So do we have a deal then?"

Neptune sipped of her champagne, "Thirty Kalashnikovs, twenty hand grenades, three RPD light machine guns, two RPG-7 launchers, twenty rockets, one thousand five hundred rounds of Kalashnikov ammo and nine hundred rounds of machine gun ammo. Helga, are you trying to start a war here? These are enough to outfit a small army."

Helga laughed, and lit a cigarette. She took a deep puff, and blew the smoke towards Neptune.

"Of course not. I may have lost my love, but I haven't lost my mind, girlfriend."

"Then what are you planning to do with all of these? I never had a large order like these since...since ever!"

Helga pufffed from her cigarette, "Ever heard of being a middleman, or rather, being a middlewoman?"

Neptune smiled, "You're a shrewd businesswoman, Helga. Supplying arms to Hillwood and nearby cities. Monopolizing the arms supply, I see where you are going."

"Hell, I would never reach the place where I am right now if I'm not being just like me, the Blonde Devil of the West."

"And unrivaled underworld businesswoman. I heard even the notorious Di Giallo (Big Gino) would even think twice before crossing Helga Pataki."

"Perhaps my reputation precedes me, Neptune," Helga said, puffing from her cigarette.

Neptune chuckled softly, and raised her glass to propose a toast, "To the Blonde Devil of the West."

"And to the Kalashnikov Lady," Helga clinked her glass against her.

_"And to you, boyfriend-stealing blonde bimbo. Good riddance and may you fry, you whore," _she thought as she chugged down her champagne in a single draft.

Helga then wiped her lips with a napkin, then gazed back at Neptune, "So do we have a deal then?"

Neptune took out her tablet from her purse. She began furiously punching and tapping here and then. After a few seconds, she placed back her tablet to her purse and smiled back to Helga, "Sure, the shipment will be ready in a month-"

"Two weeks."

"Pardon me?" Neptune looked at Helga in disbelief.

"You heard me right, blondie. Two weeks, or the deal's off." Helga said sternly.

Neptune looked at her in disbelief, "Helga, you can't be serious. A shipment this scale will require...tremendous effort and you know, you can't just slip guns of this number through-"

"Two weeks, or the deal's off ," Helga insisted. "You can't blame me. I got a business to keep, and a reputation to uphold. Helga G. Pataki gives the goods on time. No more, no less."

"Helga, surely you can't be serious..."

"Oh I'm serious, alright," she leaned close to her and looked her dead in her violet eyes. "And my name is not Shirley. I am _Helga Geraldine Pataki_."

"Yeah, right," Neptune snorted as she brought out her tablet again. "I'll see what I could do then."

After a few seconds of furious tapping, Neptune scowled at her tablet, and tapped some more. She then put down her tablet and smiled at Helga.

"Sure, here's what I could do. I could deliver ten Kalashnikovs ten days from now, and the rest will be-"

"No, I do not take partial deliveries. I want them all in one piece, not a single round missing, all in one shipment, in two weeks. You heard me right, blondie. I didn't stutter," Helga said resolutely.

"Dammit, Helga," she snarled, unable to contain her annoyance. "What you are asking is damn impossible! I can deliver you all the goods, but you have to understand that it takes time-"

"Do I have to repeat myself, Miss Eighth Planet?" Helga almost growled at her, her drunkenness and annoyance obvious in her voice. "I have orders to fill, and if you are incompetent enough not to fullfill them, then I guess I'll go out and take my business elsewhere."

"Fine then! I'll check!" she snapped back, then brought out her tablet again, sulking back while furiously tapping on it. It took a few minutes before she put down her tablet and looked darkly at Helga.

"Fine then, you'll have your guns two weeks from now. South Pier. I'll call you for the exact time and details of the shipment. But as per agreement, I need the ten percent-"

"Five." Helga quickly snapped.

"For the love of God, Pataki, are you trying to bankrupt me?! A shipment of this scale would cost a lot to move from one place to another. I'm giving you a special deal for all of these, for the sake of the man we _both love_."

Helga shuddered upon hearing this. She wanted to bury her fist into her face, to gouge out her ugly fake-looking violet eyes, and rip out her heart out to feed to the dogs at that moment. But she maintained her composure, and kept her smug smile at her.

"Okay then. Ten percent."

"Fine, finally!" Neptune sighed exasperatingly. "So, ten percent of the total price to be wired ASAP. The rest will be wire transferred to the bank account I'll give to you. As agreed, two weeks from now, you'll have all the shipment that we agreed upon."

"And not a bullet less."

"Not a bullet less," Neptune repeated, smiling. Finally, she managed to close this deal. She never imagined that Helga would be such a difficult client. This was probably due to the fact that she "stole" Arnold from her (or so what she thought Helga was implying with her), or Helga really had a large order to fill and she needed them in such a short period of time. Whatever it was, this was the biggest deal she ever closed, and she made a killing out of this.

"And I expect all of these these to be top quality. Military grade. Anything less and I'll shove it all back to your ass. _Literally."_ Helga said, unblinking as she downed her champagne.

Neptune broke out into a soft laughter, "Helga, oh Helga dear. You think I'll shortchange you by giving you less?"

"I'm just warning you. This is the first time I dealt with you, and I honored you with this deal. Normally, I would just order in piecemeal basis, just to test the waters. But-" she puffed from her cigarette. "Since Arnold trusted you so much, and for his sake, I decided to leave all caution to the wind and go on with it. I decided to bite; hook, line, sinker, and all."

_"I got you now, bitch,"_ Neptune smiled slyly as she sipped her champagne.

"But you should know better than to cross Helga G. Pataki. The didn't call me the Blonde Devil for nothing, just for you to know," Helga smiled impishly.

"Oh sweetheart, must you always threaten?" Neptune leaned back and crossed her legs.

"Not a threat, but an _advice, _girlfriend," Helga snapped back, keeping her impish smile.

Neptune broke into a soft laughter, shaking her head, "Helga, dear, now I understand why Arnold had loved you. _Loved you."_ She put a special emphasis on the word "loved".

Helga was seething. She wanted badly to whip out Old Betsy and blow Neptune's brains off right there and then. But she maintained her composure and smile. Trading veiled barbs was her game, eh, she thought. Then that's exactly what's going to give.

"I wouldn't push my luck if I were you, Neptune. Last person who tried fell from the edge from doing so," Helga replied.

_"Who, your best friend?"_ she was tempted to snap back, but she bit her tongue. Not now, not that she had recently closed a deal and had Helga in her hands. She might abruptly call off the deal if she happened to rub the Blonde Devil the wrong way, bringing ruin to her plans.

"Oh I wouldn't dare push it any further, Helga. I pushed it far enough by agreeing to a shipment of this scale," she said, laughing softly and shrilly.

"Then I'm glad we're on the same page," Helga smirked. "I'm growing strangely fond of you, Neptune. I may kill you in the future, but I will definitely feel sad about it." Helga chuckled and motioned Hanako, who was standing by, to refill their champagne glasses, which she promptly did so.

Neptune then raised her glass and gazed Helga's fiery sapphire eyes, "Here's to the two deadliest women in Hillwood."

She gazed back on Neptune's violet eyes which appeared like fiery magenta, and clinked her glass against her, "Cheers."

#################################################

"So, what do we have here?" Gerald said as he hunched down and looked on the laptop screen over Arnold's shoulder. He was checking the updated bail enforcement database, or more commonly known as the bounty list, or "The List". Here, profiles of fugitives wanted for different crimes were being uploaded by the Hillwood Police, together with the list of their offenses, and most importantly, the bounty for their capture. Bounty hunters like Arnold and Gerald were free to pick their "targets", track down and pursue him, and eventually take him down and turn him over to the police. More often than not, this led to clashes between bounty hunters themselves if they were both after the same target, or for one to sabotage the operations of the other.

"Let me see," Arnold muttered as he scrolled down the page, scanning the mugshots of the fugitives, taking note of their offenses and reward offered. A few days after his little brawl with Gerald, he finally convinced him to lay down the alcohol and get his act together. He promised to get to the bottom of Phoebe's father's murder. But to do so, they would need funds, something they are currently running low of. There are informants to pay off, records to check, evidences and documents to sneak out of the evidence room, and dirty cops to bribe to look the other way. With this, Gerald agreed to go back to their bounty-hunting for time being.

Arnold stopped at the mugshot of an African-American woman. He clicked at the picture to view her dossier. Gerald leaned closer as Arnold read out her profile loud.

"Morgan Taylor. Age, 26. Offense: Murder, multiple homicide, conspiracy to commit homicide, attempted murder. Reward: twenty grand," Arnold then turned to Gerald, who was still reading her profile.

"Morgan Taylor," Gerald shook his head knowingly. "Mmmm-mmmm-mmm. Bad news if we'll pick her."

"Why is that?"

"Man, she's a hound. She may be worth twenty grand, but she ain't no worth the trouble. No sir, thanks but no thanks."

Arnold nodded as he clicked the BACK button and checked the other mugs of those in The List. He agreed with Gerald that pursuing a Taylor would be not worth the reward offered for her. A hound - a bounty hunter who moonlights as a hired gun for those who can afford his or her services. She used to be a bounty hunter like them before, but she fell out of grace and turned into a contract killer, doing jobs and contracts for underworld bosses. She knows how they move, and how they would track her down. Even if they're lucky in tracking her down, capturing her will be a different thing. They would be lucky to capture her with one of them wounded, if not dead. A skilled assassin was not worth the trouble, not for a measly twenty thousand dollar bounty.

Arnold kept on scrolling down, skipping the "small fries", or fugitives with laughably low bounties. This kept on for minutes, a scowl forming on Arnold's brow as he continued to search for a suitable target. Finally, he stopped scrolling at the mug of a white guy with messy curly hair and ragged beard. He clicked on his mugshot to view his full dossier.

"Stavros. Age, 27. Offense: Assault on a police officer, murder of a police officer, three counts. Reward, thirteen grand," Arnold read out monotonously.

"A serial cop killer, eh?"

"Looks like it. I know this guy. He used to be a cop himself. I wonder what made him turn against his fellow cops."

"You talk to this guy back when you were still in the force?"

Arnold shook his head, "Nope. We're in different departments. He's in homicide department, I'm at SWAT."

"So you think he's worth it?"

"Worth a shot," Arnold stroke his chin thoughtfully. "He's a cop, I'm a cop. I know how he thinks. That puts us ahead in the game. All we need now is a lead on his whereabouts."

Gerald stood up, "So what are we waiting for? Let's go get our lead from my man." He went to the coat hanger stand, grabbed his coat, and threw Arnold the car keys. Arnold caught the keys, and gave Gerald a questioning look.

"Like _right now?_ And who the heck is the "man" we're gonna get our lead from?"

Gerald grinned at Arnold. "Fuzzy Slippers."


	12. Act 9: Spiderwebs

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters, the song "Spiderwebs" by No Doubt to which this chapter is named after. **

**Alrighty, it's self-cameo time! XD**

**Act 9: Spiderwebs**

"Is this the place?" Arnold asked as Gerald pulled up in front of one of the many cafes in East Hillwood.

"Yes, this is where he's at," he replied as he turned the car engine off and got off the car. They both stood at the front of the cafe and observed the people going in and out of the cafe. Two young cafe employees, a young Asian and a Caucasian girl, in frilly French maid costume were distributing flyers to passers-by, greeting them cheerily, inviting them into the cafe. The Asian young "maid" was wearing a kitty headband, while the white girl had a bunny ears headband on. Arnold looked up at the signboard of the cafe. It was written entirely in Kanji. Beneath the large Kanji characters is the English translation of the signboard: _Silky Whip Maid and Cosplay Cafe_.

"A maid cafe, hmmm. I never been into one," Arnold said, eyeing one of the cafe "maids" who smiled at them and gave them a friendly wave.

"This is where Fuzzy Slippers usually hangs out. If we're lucky, he's in the same spot where I usually find him," Gerald said as he made his way to the door into the cafe. Fuzzy Slippers, the mysterious informant whom Gerald gets his famous urban legends from back in their PS 118 days. Arnold never thought that he was a real person, or that he (or she) _even actually existed._ Who was this mysterious informant that Gerald was willing to put his entire faith on? Was he really that reliable?

"Nothing escape Fuzzy Slippers. All the important going-ons in this city, he ought to have heard about it somehow and could provide a juicy bit or two," Gerald would reassure Arnold everytime he doubts Fuzzy Slipper's tip-offs.

Arnold followed Gerald into the cafe. They were greeted by a Latina-looking waitress, also in a frilly French maid costume with red devil horns headband.

"_Okaerinasaimase, goshujinsama _(Welcome home, master)_!_" she chimed, then bowing to them.

Arnold, gave the Latina maid waitress a confused look, "Ummm...same to you."

Gerald snickered a bit, "Hey, is Fuzzy in here?"

The waitress' face darkened upon hearing Fuzzy's name, the replied in a low voice, "He's not here, but you may want to try our strawberry shortcake, master?"

Gerald replied with a similar tone, "No, but I would prefer your chocolate tiramisu, with a _shot of espresso_."

"With espresso?" the waitress raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, _with espresso_," Gerald repeated.

The Latina waitress nodded knowingly, "Right this way, master." And she led them to a booth at the back portion of the cafe.

"What was that about?" Arnold whispered to Gerald, confused by the exchange between him and the waitress.

"A secret code. Fuzzy won't see anyone except for a select few," Gerald whispered back. Arnold nodded. This added to the air of mystery surrounding the already-mysterious and elusive Fuzzy Slippers. Anticipation started to build up within him, curious on seeing how this mysterious informant was like.

The waitress led them to a booth where a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties was sitting, busy with his laptop, his face obscured by the laptop screen, his spiky hair the only thing visible.

"Fuzzy-sama, someone's here to see you," the waitress said.

Fuzzy Slippers looked up, seeing Gerald, smiled a bit and nodded, "Ah, Gerald, old chap. You had come."

"Nice too see you again, Fuzzy ol' buddy," Gerald greeted back.

Fuzzy smiled, and turned to Arnold, "You must be Arnold Shortman, Gerald's bestfriend, and the SWAT operative who got involved in the debacle at the airport when you were transporting Lorenzo Ramirez to hand him over to Interpol five years go, right? And you happened to be involved romantically with Helga G. Pataki as well, the feared Blonde Devil of West Hillwood?" He then smiled smugly with all the information he gave out.

Arnold was surprised at the accuracy of the info he heard from him. Confused, he nodded absent-mindedly, "Yes, I was that SWAT operative, and I _used to be involved _with Helga."

Fuzzy smiled, "Looks like I need to update my database then." He then opened his laptop, started typing furiously, and paused to look at them. "Oh please, do sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Sandra, my honey-devil, can you please get these gentlemen something to drink? What will you be having?"

"Cafe Machiatto," Gerald said.

"Strong black coffee for me," Arnold added.

"You gentlemen are not up for pastries? Silky Whip is known for its cakes and specialty bread. My treat," he offered.

"No thanks, we will not stay here for long. We're here for a few things," Arnold replied. To this, Fuzzy Slippers smiled impishly.

Arnold gazed at Fuzzy, sizing him up. He seemed to be an ordinary nerdy guy, an average _otaku, _the type who would obsess creepily over cute underage anime girls, and female cosplayers in maid costumes. He was wearing a horn-framed hipster glasses, his eyes was hidden behind the greenish reflection of his laptop screen cast on his multi-coated lens. He adjusted his gray and black _shemagh_ (Arabic scarf) around his neck as he gulped his coffee down before taking a puff from his lit cigarette, then thoughtfully stroked his goatee as he read across his laptop screen, and then blew the smoke to Arnold and Gerald's direction before turning to Sandra.

"Cafe machiatto and strong black for these two nice chaps, and another round of kopi luwak for me, if you may, my honey-devil," he said flirtatiously, to which Sandra giggled before bowing and heading to the bar to prepare their drinks.

"So what brings you here to my humble haven?" he then asked them after Sandra left.

"Information, Fuzzy Slippers. We came here for any possible leads for our next bounty-head," Arnold tersely replied.

"Well perhaps you are aware that my services are not exactly for free, Mr. Shortman," he grinned at Arnold.

Arnold scowled, "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Shortman, perhaps your best friend was not able to enlighten you on the terms of my business."

"How much do you need?"

Fuzzy slippers laughed, "Mr. Shortman, it is not money I require from you. You see, I operate on the basis of equivalent exchange. For every information gained, an information of equivalent value or use must be given."

He then leaned closer, "Now, what do you chaps have for me?"

Arnold turned to Gerald. He just shrugged and shook his head. Arnold sighed and turned to Fuzzy Slippers.

"Surely, there's some sort of compensation that we can agree-"

"If you can't comply with my terms, then we have nothing to discuss further. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have pressing matters to attend to-"

"Fuzzy ol' buddy, c'mon man. For old time's sake, can you just let this one slide? I mean, pro bono or something?" Gerald entreated him.

"No, Gerald, you should know better since you have been my client since we were back in grade school. I _do not_ do pro bono. Not now, _not ever_."

"What do you hope to gain from this? What do you get from getting other people's secrets?" Arnold snapped, his annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Diversion, Mr. Shortman. Diversion. Nothing entertains me most than the sense of knowing something. Knowing what happens behind closed doors, knowing that behind each smile lies a murderous intent and treason, knowing that behind each mundane event is a web of lies, betrayal, connivance. It's the sense of silent omniscience, Mr. Shortman, that you stand behind shadows, watching the wondrous play of events unfold."

He puffed from his cigarette and took a sip from his coffee, and turned back to them, holding his coffee mug and cigarette, "If knowledge is power, Mr. Shortman, then a god am I?" And he broke into a maniacal snicker.

"This isn't a video game or a movie, Fuzzy Slippers. These are the affairs of _real_ people that you are talking about," Arnold snapped back.

"The world is a stage, and we are but players on it, enacting a cosmic script in which we all play bits of it. I hate to see the world as such, as this leaves us a mere marionettes moving according to which strings an Unseen Puppeteer pulls. Rather, I see our world as a confused tangled web of threads spun by each one of us. You cannot pull out a single strand without pulling others with it. We are, somehow, interconnected by causality of our own actions, both conscious and not."

Sandra returned with their drinks on a serving trolley. She then served each and one of their drinks. She then knelt down to mix and stir the sugar and creamer on their drink while Fuzzy Slippers lazily played with her hair, twirling strands of her brunette hair around his finger, which she didn't seem to mind and in fact enjoying it. After serving their drinks, she bowed at them and stood at a corner, awaiting their further orders.

"Why are you doing this? Power? So that you can easily manipulate people, knowing each of their darkest and dirtiest secret and selling them to the highest bidder?" Arnold seethed.

Fuzzly Slippers laughed before crushing his cigarette butt on the ashtray, "Please, Mr. Shortman. You give me too much credit. I don't see myself as a manipulator, nor I wish to be one. Power? It is nothing but an illusion. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more, no less."

"It is our greed, our mutual greed that feeds our illusion of power. We have an innate need for us to have someone to look up, and our so-called leaders fill this need, as they have their own need for someone to look down to. That's why we have kings, leader, generals, bosses. Heroes, gods, and deities. The gods did not create men in their own image, but the men created gods in their image to fulfill the need of having a sense of someone omniscient, powerful to fear, love, and cling to in times of need."

"I am not here for a philosophical discourse! We are here to get information and lead for our bounty-head!" Arnold snapped, slamming his fist on the table angrily.

"Ever so impatient, Mr. Shortman?" Fuzzy Slippers smiled mockingly. "Very well then, that brings me to the original question: what do you have for me? Make sure that it never passed my ears before, or presents the other side of a story that I previously know of. And _do not dare_ make any fabrications, Mr. Shortman. I have my own way of knowing."

"You're wearing my patience thin, you insufferable prick!" Arnold snarled. He stood up and...

_**CLICK!**_

...pointed his Glock .30 at Fuzzy Slipper, who seemed to be unfazed by the sight of a gun barrel staring directly on him.

"Arnold!" Gerald involuntarily called out as Arnold pulled the hammer back, ready to send a slug into Fuzzy's head.

Fuzzy just chuckled, "Looks like Ms. Pataki had rubbed some on you, Mr. Shortman. I never knew it is in your nature to threaten, when all I want is a fair bargain."

"Enough games and empty talk! We came here to get what we want, and what we want _I will get_."

Fuzzy Slippers wagged his forefinger, and plugged it into the gun barrel, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Then he nodded to Sandra's direction, who was standing nearby, carrying a serving tray.

"Yes, Fuzzy-sama," she smiled, and jerked the tray a bit...

_**CLICK!**_

...it revealed a small gun barrel sticking out from the bottom of the tray, pointing at Arnold and Gerald's general direction. Arnold looked at the barrel closely. A FN P90 submachinegun, he thought upon recognizing the unique compact shape of the barrel. Fuzzy grinned at Arnold as he pushed his handgun pointed at him aside with his forefinger.

"Mr. Shortman, you underestimate me. Don't you think in this line of business, I have never been threatened, shot at, pelted with a hail of bullets during a drive-by shoooting, stabbed by an unsuspecting assassin, every peril you could conjure with your imagination? I am always a step ahead of everybody else, Mr' Shortman."

"But if I kill you now," Arnold lifted his gun and pointed it back to Fuzzy Slippers. "You'll die with all your secrets and schemes. Everything you worked for, all the information and secrets you have gathered, all will be nothing with just a pull of a finger."

"Maybe so, but not quite," he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal an electronic device the size of a pocket calculator attached to his chest. "I was unfortunate to be born with a heart condition, so I am cursed to wear this wretched contraption to regulate my heartbeat for the rest of my life. As years passed bay, I have learned to, say, _weaponize_ this device, turning my greatest weakness into an ultimate weapon."

"This pacemaker is connected has a direct satellite uplink to a secure remote cloud server that contains all the information and secrets that I have gathered over the years, which only I have access to. Yes, even the urban legends I told you, Gerald, is included." He turned to Gerald, who seemed to be amazed on the lengths that Fuzzy Slippers took to secure all of his secrets.

"The moment that this does not detect a heart, it will trigger to execute a chain of commands that will spread all of the information and secrets to all media outlet. And I mean, _all_. Imagine all the chaos that will ensue if each and every secret of each underworld, political, and even showbiz personalities here in Hillwood and neighboring states and cities would come out. The media circus and frenzy, the scandals, the amount of reputations wrecked by each dark secret revealed. Too bad I won't be around to watch all the chaos by then," he then snickered maniacally as he buttoned back his shirt.

"Well, what if you die of natural causes, like if you get sick or something?" Gerald asked incredulously. "That would unintendedly unleash the "chaos", right?"

He just laughed off Gerald's question, "Not my problem, Gerald. You see, by simply living, I am Hillwood's most dangerous man. They would not let me die. _No one_ would let me die. Not even you, _Mr. Shortman,"_ he fixed his gaze on his emerald eyes.

"And why I would _not_?" he snapped back, keeping his gun pointed unto him.

"A couple of things, Mr. Shortman," he adjusted his glasses and picked a cigarette out of his pack. "The 'bunny pajamas incident' back in the fourth grade, and the truth behind the 'Hillwood International Airport fiasco' five years ago." He then lit the cigarette, took a deep puff, and blew the smoke towards Arnold's face.

Arnold shuddered upon hearing Fuzzy Slipper's "ammunition" against him. That embarassing incident back in the fourth grade, albeit he would still cringe whenever he remembers that event, he can let that one pass, but the "airport incident", Arnold's face reddened upon hearing that. This single event, all the betrayal, anguish, pain, deep resentment, and angst gushed out. He was taken aback by Fuzzy slippers, who was now grinning slyly at him. He lowered his gun and sighed wearily.

"Mr. Shortman, I suggest that we stop acting like children here and settle this like civilized gentlemen that we are. Sandra?" he motioned the Latina maid waitress to put down her submachinegun, and she obediently complied. Arnold likewise holstered back his gun inside his coat and sat back.

"Okay Fuzzy Slippers, I'll bite. What do you want?"

"Do I need to repeat myself? Any information of interest in return for the information that you want. Come on, seduce me with your wares, Mr. Shortman," he smirked at him as he stroke his beard.

"For someone with a heart condition, you do smoke and drink coffee way too much," Gerald butted in.

Fuzzy laughed and held his coffee mug up, "Decaf, and this-" he held his cigarette up. "-nicotine substitute. I hope that satisfies your curiosity. And back to you, Mr. Shortman. Unfortunately, I'm afraid my patience wears thin as yours so if you don't mind, be quick about it."

Arnold felt sick seeing Fuzzy smug smile as he deftly turned the tables on him. He sighed as he looked at Gerald, who merely shrugged at him. He sigh again, and looked at Fuzzy Slipper's dark brown eyes.

"Okay, it's about one of the suicides reported last week. She's our classmate, and friend...Phoebe Heyerdahl..." his voice trailed off as he turned to Gerald, who suddenly looked so sullen.

Fuzzy Slippers eyes gleamed behind his glasses and leaned closer to them, "Interesting...what about it?"

Arnold proceeded to tell the obvious things about Phoebe's suicide, the facts reported by the media. Then he went on things that were not reported and that were seemingly peculiar: Phoebe's sudden suicide after years of being _incommunicado_, Helga being the only one claiming her body at the city morgue, the closed-coffin funeral, and the absence of her family and relatives during her funeral.

Fuzzy nodded as he typed away on his laptop, "Interesting. Indeed, interesting, Mr. Shortman. Just when I thought this was just another statistic on the city's suicide rates, it might turn out that there more then what meets the eye."

He stroked his goatee as he read off his laptop screen, "Phoebe Heyerdahl, the only daughter of Kyo Heyerdahl, who was brutally murdered. The details and documents regarding the case is too scant, I say, _suspiciously scant._ There has to be something big behind his murder. This is really interesting, Mr. Shortman. So is this the lead you are pursuing?"

Arnold looked at Gerald, then back to Fuzzy, "In time, yes. But for now, we want a lead for our bounty-head."

"And this is the part where I hold my end of the bargain. You did well, Mr. Shortman, so who is it do you seek?"

"Stavros, the serial cop-killer," he said without blinking.

Fuzzy typed in for a few seconds, and smiled a bit as he scanned the results on his laptop, "Ah, Stavros, a former homicide detective. Received several awards and citations for outstanding work in solving some of Hillwood's toughest murder and homicide cases. The last case he was working on was Kyo Heyerdahl's murder before he was hastily dismissed from service for bribery and extortion charges."

He held up his mug, which Sandra promptly refilled with coffee, and took a sip from it before going on.

"Thank you, Sandra dearest," he smiled and winked at her. The maid waitress blushed and giggled a bit. Arnold rolled his eyes at the sight.

"His first 'cop kill' was Detective Lance Barnes, his former colleague in the homicide department. After that, it seems that he went after one cop to another. He did not do so randomly. There's a pattern with the cops he took out. He seems to go after those who were suspected of being under the payroll of underworld groups. In other words, rotten cops. His method of murder varies from drive-by shootings, to close-range assassinations, to even sniping his targets from afar. To date, eight cops went down to his credit."

"He is a tough nut to crack, so to speak. His whereabouts are unknown, and he is very careful to cover his tracks. There's hardly anything in here that you could use as a lead," he said matter-of-factly, much to the chagrin of Arnold and Gerald.

"However, there's a chink in his armor that you could exploit. This," he turned the screen of his laptop around, showing to Arnold and Gerald an image of a rundown pawnshop.

"Black Rob's Pawnshop. What about it?" Arnold threw a questioning look at the informant. Black Rob's. It is a place notoriously known for its black market trade, and a "drop-off point" for stolen goods and contraband. Arnold participated in one of the many raids the police made to this place when he was still in the force.

"Based on the rumor I have gathered so far, it is said that Black Rob, the owner of that establishment, harbors your bounty-head and may be the key for you to locate, and if luck is in your side, capture Stavros."

"So we get Black Rob, and we'll get Stavros, is that right?" Gerald asked.

"Most likely, yes. I don't want to get your hopes up, as these are unconfirmed rumors I have gathered. Even with my vast network, any information pointing to the conclusive whereabouts of this old chap still eludes me."

"Better something than nothing," Arnold muttered.

"Ever the optimist, Mr. Shortman?" Fuzzy Slippers chuckled. "Well, let me indulge you then. If you're interested in getting a lead on Heyerdahl's murder, I believe that Stavros is the man you need to seek. He was the last one who meticulously covered the case before he fell out of grace, and the case got sloppily shelved by his incompetent colleagues."

"Looks like chance favors you, gentlemen. Hitting two birds in one stone," he smirked as he took another sip of his coffee. "Oh boy, I will pay a special attention on how the events surrounding this case unfolds. Exciting, isn't it?"

_"Fucking sociopath," _Arnold thought as he looked daggers across the table to Fuzzy Slippers. Everything was indeed a game for him, a cosmic play in which he fantasized himself as an omniscient observer.

"You are in a middle of a spiderweb, gentlemen. You pull the wrong thread, and whole web unravels, pulling you down with it."

Arnold simply nodded to this. He then took his mug, and downed his coffee in a single swig before standing up.

"Thanks for the help, Fuzzy Slippers," he said as he motioned Gerald to finish his drink. "I'm sorry if I lost my temper earlier..."

"I do not mind at all," he smiled. "Very well then, Gerald, Mr. Shortman, I will see you around. I will keep track on how this play unfolds." He smirked.

They nodded at him as they stood up and headed to the exit. Sandra bowed at them as they passed.

"Thank you for coming, masters. I hope you come again!" she cheerily chimed.

"Mr. Shortman," Fuzzy Slippers called out as they were about to make their way out of the cafe. They stopped at their steps, and turned to Fuzzy Slippers.

"Yes?"

"How's you and your new blonde bombshell?" he asked, grinning at him.

Arnold shrugged, "Fine, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. A word of advice that I don't usually give: don't swim too far away from the shore, for the ocean is deep and full of unknown terrors. Who knows what Poseidon's trident have in store for you?" He gave him an enigmatic look.

Arnold threw back a confused look, "What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

"Your horoscope for today," he mysteriously replied before laughing. Arnold snorted as he waved off Fuzzy Slipper's mysterious advice, and headed out of the cafe.

_"What a weird guy,"_ he thought as he got into his Packard together with Gerald and drove back home.

Inside the cafe, Fuzzy Slippers rubbed his chin thoughtfully has he gazed at a mug of a blonde woman with unique violet eyes on his laptop screen. Beside it, a red warning "NO RECORDS FOUND" flashed repeatedly. His eyes gleamed with amazement beneath his hipster glasses. He smiled a bit as he bookmarked the said profile.

_"Interesting,"_ he thought as he downed the remaining contents of his coffee mug.

**A/N: This chapter was originally planned to have two POVs, first was Arnold's and second was Sid's. The first POV was too long so I decided to split them into two chapters. Expect the second POV, together with an additional POV from Neptune, to be up in a few days. I hope you enjoyed this, and don't forget to leave reviews! ^^,**


	13. Act 10: Freak On A Leash

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! and its characters, and the song "Freak On A Leash" by Korn to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 10: Freak On A Leash**

Sid angrily closed his flip cellphone and hurried towards the Elysium's entrance, pushing the double-doors open wide and rushed towards the direction of the manager's office, only to be accosted by two burly men posted on the hallway leading to the office. He looked distraught as he snarled at them and glared at them.

Sid just received calls from three of their biggest clients, cancelling their orders for Kalashnikovs and other armaments. They stated their reason for cancellation as "loss of interest in doing business with Helga Pataki, and have found a supplier who can cater their demands in a more competitive price". That would leave Helga sitting with a shipment of weapons that no will want to buy, and have hard time selling off. He has to let Helga know about this, otherwise they will be in trouble.

_"That blonde snake, Neptune. Fuck her. Fuck her and her whole brood," _Sid cursed as he thought of her fake sweet smile and fake-looking fiery violet eyes.

It's Helga's fault anyway why they were in this deep shit, Sid thought. If she had not been trusty, she still has her regular clients in her hands. If she was not stupid enough to introduce that blonde snake Neptune to her clients in that stupid party, then that blonde whore could not have pulled a fast one behind their backs and stole their clients for herself. But no, Helga decided to throw all caution and sense aside, put her whole faith on this shady character, and placed a bulk order of weapons instead of "testing the waters" by ordering in piecemeal basis.

"Is Helga in there?" he asked gruffly to one of the guards.

"Milady is in there, but she said she doesn't want to be disturbed..."

"This is important," he snapped at him. "You _could_ lose your job if you don't let me through."

"But..."

"Dammit!" Sid angrily pushed the burly man aside and rushed to her office. He slammed is fist against the ebony door.

_**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**_

"Helga, are you there? This is important."

Sid could hear the sound of girlish giggles and squeals behind the heavy door.

"Helga, let me in. This is really important, I tell you," he bellowed, annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Okay Sid, come in," Helga said, giggling. Sid threw the heavy door open and a heavy scent of burnt marijuana overcame him. Together with Helga was Hanako, who was seating on her office table, her waitress uniform top unbuttoned exposing her lacy bra, her hair disheveled. Helga was on her office chair, her hair tied in a messy bun, holding a glass half-filled with bourbon and a cigarette. Both of them are red -faced, seemingly drunk (or stoned). Sid looked at both of them with obvious disapproval.

"Helga..."

"What's shakin' Sid?" Helga asked him, giving him a half-lidded look.

"Helga, three of clients have called. Big Gino, Escobar, and even _Curly, _they all have cancelled their orders. They found another supplier who could give them the guns at a lower price."

Helga leaned back to her seat and crossed her legs, "Really now?" She raised her eyebrow.

"Yes, _really now,_" Sid repeated, looking darkly at Helga. She was obviously not taking this seriously. "If we do not do something, we will be losing money, and we will be sitting on a cache of weapons we could not even use or sell."

Helga said something to Hanako, but it was too low for Sid to hear. They then started giggling like idiots.

"Helga!" Sid slammed his hands on her office table, flustered. "Do you have an idea how serious this situation is?! We are going to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars here if we don't do something, not to mention burdened with keeping those weapons stored and hidden before the cops gets a wind of it, or someone rats us out!"

Helga tilted her head sideways and puffed from her cigarette, "And what do you suggest?"

"Well," Sid threw his hands in the air. "Call Neptune and cancel our order. After all, we haven't wired in the ten percent deposit. We'll lose nothing if we cancel now."

Helga's smile disappeared and her face darkened, downed her bourbon in a single swig and raised her glass, "Hanako, Jose Cuervo, please." Hanako nodded and headed to the wine cabinet to get the tequila bottle, and poured Helga a glassful.

"Very well then," she said as she sipped from her glass. "Call Neptune. Tell her that in addition of our original order, we'll be adding _ten more_ Kalashnikovs, one more RPD light machinegun, seven hundred more rounds of Kalashnikov and RPD ammo, and three Dragunov SVD sniper rifles and one hundred rounds of SVD ammo."

"WHAT?!" Sid blurted out. "Helga, are you fucking serious?!"

"Have her compute the ten percent of the total cost for the whole order, and wire the amount to her account first thing in the morning tomorrow," she went on, ignoring Sid's outburst.

"Helga, are you drunk, or high?! We are trying to save money here, not to lose more!" Sid snarled, leaning towards Helga across her table, his face inches away from hers. He stared at Helga's fiery sapphire eyes. Her pupils were not dilated, but her breath reeks badly of alcohol. She had been drinking way too much alright.

"Did I stutter, Sid? I mean what I _have said," _she said sternly. "We're ordering more weapons from Neptune, and I want them to be delivered on the agreed time and place together with the original order. Not a bullet less."

"You're out of your mind, Helga. Just what the hell are you planning to do? Are you digging your own grave?" he said, exasperated.

"I know what I'm doing, Sid," she replied, slurring slightly as the buzz of drinking mixed hard liquors began to rise to her head.

Sid ran his fingers through his hair and hang his head up, "Dammit, Helga. You know that I have been loyally doing whatever you ask me to, even if it's totally against my moral fiber. But this is-"

"Madness?" Helga continued. "This is _my will. _Lest you forget, Sid, to whom you swore your fealty and faith?"

Sid sighed and rolled his eyes, "To you, my Lady."

"And do you question the will of your Lady, or your faith on her waver just as easy as that?"

Sid looked down, shook his head as he clenched his fist, "No, my Lady."

"Then do as what your Liege wishes you to do. I command you to call Neptune, and place the additional order. The terms of delivery remains unchanged. Remind her that if she fails to honor the terms of our transaction, not only that the deal will be off, but would suffer the consequences of wasting Helga Pataki's time. We have dropped our old supplier for her sake, so she better not mess up."

Helga stood up, and gave him a stern look, "Do I need to repeat myself or remind you of your station, Sid?"

Sid snorted angrily and clenched his fists, bowing low, "Yes, my Lady. Your will shall be done."

"Then move, Sid. For great justice," she dismissed him. Sid begrudgingly headed out of the office. Outside, a dull thud echoed through the hallway, a sound of a fist hitting the wall followed by an angry groan.

Helga then sipped from her glass and gazed at Hanako, who sat on her table facing Helga, her legs spread, lazily playing with her hair, her top still unbuttoned. Helga lazily caressed Hanako's smooth thighs back and forth, contemplating.

"So she made her move?" Hanako asked.

"Yes, so I made mine," Helga replied. "Bitch wants to play hardball, she'll get what she wants."

"Fix yourself, we're leaving," she said to her. Hanako then started buttoning her top.

"Where are we going?"

Helga's sapphire eyes gleamed, "East Hillwood. To Silky Whip Cafe."

Hanako nodded, "I'll be waiting in the car." And she headed out of Helga's office.

Helga sat back on her chair, and gazed at her glass. Then, a sly smile broke across her face.

_"Your move now, bitch."_

_#####################################################################_

"Yes, yes. Thank you."

She impatiently closed her flip phone and slammed it back on the bedside table. What a way to wake her up from her slumber, especially when she was in his arms. She pulled the sheets up to cover her naked body as she sat on the bed. She sighed as she turned to him, who was still sound asleep. How cute did he look, she thought. She smiled as she ran her fingers through his messy blond hair. A low groan then came from him, his eyelids began to flutter, his emerald eyes then fixed its gaze upon hers.

"You awake, dear?" he asked groggily.

She nodded, "I was watching you sleep. You look cute when you're asleep, actually."

He chuckled a bit as he rolled towards her, nuzzling on the crook of her neck. She let out a low moan as she let him smother her neck with kisses. He finished by playfully nipping her ear.

"I thought I heard you talking someone on the phone," he whispered.

"Oh, it's nothing. It's Sid, he says Helga is adding some items to her original order and confirming the details for the delivery."

"Oh, so how's you and Helga doing?"

"Fine, I guess," she sighed. "She's being a difficult client, to be honest."

"Really now? How so?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

"Well, for starters, she ordered in bulk, and she's giving me a tight deadline to meet the delivery, otherwise she's gonna cancel the order."

"What was she ordering again?"

"Wines and liquors," she replied, biting her lip a bit. "She's giving me two weeks to fulfill the order, all more than hundred boxes of them!"

"What she's gonna do with all that booze?"

"Beats me," she shrugged. "For her club's consumption, resell them, she can fill out a pool out of all the wine she bought and swim on it for all I care."

He nodded and snuggled her closer.

"Two weeks is hard enough to gather all the hundred boxes, and now she's adding fifty more! And she's not even extending the deadline for the delivery," she snorted in disgust.

"Relax, my dear. Everything will turn out fine. If you want, I can talk to Helga-"

"No, Arnold. That won't be necessary. I can make necessary arrangements to meet her demand. It's just that-" She sighed. "I'm stretching all my resources here too thinly."

Arnold thought for a moment. Why would Helga demand such large number of liquor in a short span of time? It's not that Elysium is understocked with wine and liquor. Is she planning on expanding her business?

"If you think you're stretching yourself thin with this, why can't you just drop Helga and turn to less demanding clients? I remembered you telling me that you recently received orders from your new clients here in Hillwood. I'm sure you can profit with them just as you would with Helga," he said as he lazily traced her black trident tattoo on her right arm. The black trident. The astronomical symbol of the planet Neptune.

_Who knows what Poseidon's trident have in store for you?_

Fuzzy Slippers' parting words echoed in his head, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. Enough with empty talk. All he wanted was to enjoy his tender moments with her, that all.

She turned to him and looked at him darkly.

"No, I will show Helga that I can fulfill her order no matter what. She's trying to mock me, that's all."

"My dear, you're taking this too personally..."

Her fiery violet eyes gleamed, "This isn't about profit anymore, Arnold, or business. This is something between us-"

Arnold abruptly planted his lips into hers. She let out a soft moan as her arms snaked around him, cupping the back of his head and hold it against hers. Raw passion began to rise from them, like animals hungry for each other's touch and warmth. After a few minutes of intense kissing, Arnold broke off from his kiss, gazing lovingly at her eyes. Her eyes were truly violet, and not a result of lights playing tricks on him. He remained like this, not saying a word, just gazing on her violet orbs.

She smiled at him, "What are you doing?"

He smiled back, "Looking at you."

"What are you looking at me for?"

He tilted his sideways and chuckled a bit, "Because I want to. You're smile is very pretty, it's your best feature."

"There are lots of girls prettier than I am," she sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice. _"Helga, just to name a few."_

He laughed, running her fingers through her blonde curls, "I'm not good with other women. Whenever I'm with them, I just feel miserable."

She smiled, and lazily traced her finger across his naked chest, and unto his bullet wound scar on his shoulder. Sadness began to fill her. If she keeps him by his side, he might suffer a fate worse than what he had with Helga five years ago. Love is such an ephemeral thing, it takes a speeding metallic ball to pluck it out form you, she thought.

Sensing the change in her mood, he held up her chin, "Are you scared?"

"Yes, but I am used to it," she sighed.

Not wanting to be infected by her sudden sullen mood, he tried to change the topic, "Hey, let's talk about something pleasant to cheer me up."

"I don't know what to say," she tried her best to smile.

"Do you believe in the existence of the soul?" he asked her, running his finger through the golden wisps of hair that framed her delicate face.

"Your love, your tenderness, those are the only things I believe in," she said as she gazed dreamily upon her bright emerald eyes.

He then embraced her, holding her head as she nuzzled to his, "I promise this won't end the same way. The same way it did with _her._"

_"Oh Arnold,"_ she moaned as they both got lost in the heat of their lovemaking.


	14. Act 11: Lithium Flower

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or its characters, and the song "Lithium Flower" by Scott Matthew to which this chapter is named after.**

**I dub this chapter, "Girl-to-Girl Action Part 3". XD**

**Act 11: Lithium Flower**

"I'm glad you could come, Vladimir."

"Don't mention it, my Olya," the man in his late thirties replied in a thick Russian accent. "You are no stranger to us. You can count on us anytime."

Helga smiled, knowing that he can still rely on his old Russian allies. Vladimir was the one who took Helga in five years ago after she ran away from Bob and showed her the ropes of Hillwood underworld. After that, she rose quickly within the Hillwood underworld until she reached her current reputation of being the "Blonde Devil". She owes a lot to him, and even as they were now of equal standing within the underworld, she sees to it to repay him in kind.

And now, she needs him once more.

Helga chose Chez Paris as their meeting place because this place held a special meaning for her. Chez Paris has became a sacred place for her, as this was the place were she confessed her feelings for her one true love, albeit she was disguised at that time. After that, this became their regular getaway, their Shangri-la.

The place did not change much ever since her first date with Arnold (as the Cecile, her poor and pathetic impression of a French girl) and that double date where they ended up washing the dishes back in the fourth grade. Though old, it still maintains its Parisienne class that it often boasts about and known for. A string quartet plays its repertoire of classical tunes to string renditions of popular songs as guests dine on finest French cuisine and wine.

For tonight, Vladimir ordered escargot with garlic stir-fried in butter. The restaurant sommelier suggested a bottle of Sebastiani Pinot Noir '03 to go with their meal, though they were both inclined to wash down their main course with Zyr, their favorite hard Russian vodka.

After their meal, Vladimir took out a cigar and was about to light it when Jacques, the long-time waiter in this restaurant who was now the maitre d', cleared his throat while looking at Vladimir with clear disapproval. Oh yeah, they are in the non-smoker's area. Nevertheless, he lit the cigar and blew smoke upwards, forming a cloud above their table. Of course, he's the great Vladimir Volkov, the successful Russian entrepreneur, and the rumored Russian mob boss. He can smoke wherever he wanted to and Jacques could do only as much as to give disapproving look in order to stop him from smoking, lest Vladimir order his men to drive by and lob a couple of firebombs on to the restaurant. Helga coughed violently when she inhaled some of the cigar smoke. She may be a chain smoker, but cigar never really appealed to her. It is only there that Vladimir crushed his cigar in the plant box and smiled at Helga, much to Jacques relief and chagrin.

"I'm sorry, my Olya. I forgot that you never liked the smell of cigar smoke," he apologized to her.

"It's alright. It's just that-" she sighed. "I never imagined that you would still stick out your neck like this for me...even after everything...after all these years."

He smiled, "We will never abandon an old _tovarisch_, especially our dear Olya." He placed his hand over hers across the table.

Helga smiled at the thought that a cold, ruthless Russian mob boss would soften up like this to her. He still calls her by her pet name, Olya. Vladimir explained to her that her name, Helga, was of German origin, and the Russian equivalent of her name was Olga. The diminutive, or pet name, for the latter was Olya, and being the favorite of the Russian boss gained her that pet name. Bob and Miriam lacked creativity, after all, in coming up with a unique name for her. In their fixation for their favorite daughter, they just threw in a German equivalent of her name, probably in hopes that their youngest daughter will follow the footsteps of the eldest. Her name, she often thought with much resentment and chagrin, was a testament itself of Bob's favoritism.

She held his hand and gave it a light squeeze, "I knew you would never let me down, especially in this dire situation I am in right now."

Vladimir smiled a bit, "Yes, my dear Olya. I'll be straightforward with you. We would help you, but we need to _gain something_ out of this."

_Gain something. _Those two words echoed within his head. It was like a de ja vu. It was the same two words that she had heard five years ago. Those two words gave her the much-needed support she needed to rise within the ranks of the underworld, but it came with a price. The price was that incident that drove a wedge between her and Arnold five years ago. That incident at the airport...

"Of course, as we agreed upon," she nodded absent-mindedly.

"I'm fine with thirty. Just like the old days, dear Olya" he said, smiling slyly at Helga.

"Thirty it is. Just like the old days," Helga repeated, looking darkly at him. De ja vu indeed.

The sommelier then came with a bottle of Sebastiani Pinot Noir '03. He uncorked the bottle and filled their wine glasses. Vladimir raised his glass, beaming at her.

"For my dear Olya. May the odds ever be in your favor. Cheers."

"Cheers," she clinked her glass against his and took a sip from it. That sealed the deal, she thought. At least that takes care of one problem.

She let her gaze wander around the Chez Paris. It's a relatively slow night, with few patrons scattered across dining on the finest French cuisine and wines, talking in hushed voices as the plaintive Vivaldi tune from the string quartet played in the background. Her eyes fell unto a lovely blond couple making their way into the restaurant. Her eyes narrowed, trying to recognize who the couple were. Her eyes then widened upon realizing who they were.

_"Arnold..."_

The receptionist then greeted the couple and showed them their table. A waiter then approached them and offered to take their coats. Arnold took off his dark gray trench coat, and his lovely blonde date took off her mink coat, and they handed it over to the waiter and they made their way to their table.

The gods of irony must be having a field day tonight, she thought, as they sat on the exact windowside table where she, as Cecile, and Arnold had their first date. Her brow furrowed as she watched them intently. Vladimir noticed Helga glaring at the blond couple across the restaurant hall.

"Is it _him_?" he asked. Helga nodded. Vladimir chuckled, seeing Helga get worked up seeing her old flame with such a lovely blonde date.

Arnold and her date were looking at the menu book when he noticed Helga staring at them. He tapped her and pointed at the Helga's direction. His blonde date turned to her, and their gazes met. Helga's suspicions were correct. It's that violet-eyed whore he's with, she thought.

Arnold and her date stood up, and headed to Helga and Vladimir's table. She held Arnold's arm as she smiled sweetly at both of them.

"Helga, you're here. What a pleasant surprise," Arnold said, beaming at her. She looked lovely tonight, he thought, as he looked at her lovely pink Anna Sui dress, matched with a pink choker, and her golden hair tied neatly in a bun with a few wisps of her flaxen hair to frame her face.

"A pleasant surprise indeed," she smiled back at him. Looking sharp tonight, she thought, checking her well-pressed black suit, her neatly shaved face, and neatly combed hair, slicked up and set with hair wax to tame any wayward cowlicks.

"I believe the two of you had met before," he said to Helga, then turned to her violet-eyed blonde date.

"Yes, I know her. We were well-acquainted now Miss Neptune, _ne c'est pas_?" she smirked at her. She looked at her from head to toes. Lovely Versace little black dress, Hermes purse, Ferragamo pumps. Her fashion taste was not bad for a blonde skank, she thought, slightly grinning.

She smirked back, "Yes, we are. It was rather an _interesting way _of getting acquainted." She let out a soft laugh.

"Ever so droll, Miss Neptune," Helga added, laughing softly as well.

_"Of all the places, Arnold, why Chez Paris?! You know how sacred I hold this place, and you dare desecrate its sanctity by bringing that skank, and no less, right on the very spot were I, albeit I was under a disguise back then, first shared my unbridled love for you!?" _Helga thought as she tried to make her smile seem less fake.

"By the way, this is Vladimir Volkov, my-" she turned to him. "Business associate."

He stood up and held Neptune's hand, "Pleased to meet you...Miss Neptune, am I right?"

She nodded as she held out her hand, letting Vladimir kiss it. He then turned to Arnold and held out his hand.

"Arnold, pleased to meet you again," Vladimir said, holding out his hand.

Arnold took his hand and shook it vigorously, "I thought I'll never meet you again, Vladimir."

"Surprises," Vladimir chuckled.

"You know each other, my dear?" Neptune asked.

"Yes, I know him well," he forced a smile at him, trying his to make his fake smile seem real. "Rather _too well._"

_"Of all the places, Helga, why did you choose Chez Paris?! You know how sacred I hold this place, and you dare desecrate its sanctity by bringing that dirty old bastard in this very place where I first learnt of your feelings for me, albeit you were under disguise at that time, and I have somewhat loved you back?!" _he thought as he momentarily threw a glare at Helga, then went back on forcing his fake smile.

Vladimir, that dirty old swine, Arnold thought. His hair had grayed a bit since five years ago. He was still in his usual dark Armani suit and still held his evil-smelling Havana cigar. Just looking at him makes Arnold feel unclean. Vladimir, that man who took advantage of her vulnerable situation back then and his momentary preoccupation with his duties as a SWAT member, and snatched his dear Helga away from him. Vladimir, that wicked smirking goat, the one who corrupted Helga and seduced her with the glamour of the underworld. Vladimir, if it wasn't for him, that fateful night in the airport would have not happened...

"Arnold, we're heading back to our table now," Neptune nudged him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Oh," he then turned to his usual forced friendly tone. "Nice seeing you guys here. We'll be heading back to our table now. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Helga forced a smile at them, "Yours as well. Take care." She then watched them as they returned to their table, where the waiter served their food and poured them their wine.

Vladimir chuckled a bit as he watched Helga scowl and seethe at the sight of Arnold and Neptune dining together, Neptune would sometimes teasingly feed Arnold with her fork, then giggling like a silly teenager.

"My Olya, don't tell me you're still..."

She sighed, "Yes, as always..."

He laughed a bit, "You haven't changed a bit. Still passionate and reckless as ever."

Helga looked darkly at Vladimir, "Some things _never really change, tovarisch._"

Vladimir looked at her darkly as well, "Don't tell me that all of this is _all about him?"_

"Partly, yes," she smirked at him. "Partly, a matter of status and keeping some whores in line and reminding them of their place."

Vladimir laughed at this.

"I mean, would you rather have _her _running the show in West Hillwood? Over my dead rotting corpse, _bitch,_" she seethed.

Vladimir chuckled, "There's a saying in the old country that goes, _'There is no greater foolishness than to go head-on against a woman's wrath._'"

"Touche," Helga agreed. "A jealous woman's wrath, if I may add?"

"Cheers," Vladimir raised his wine glass.

"Cheers," she acknowledged as she raised her glass and clinked it on his.

Minutes passed by as they alternately discussed business matters and exchanged pleasantries. They paused only to watch the string quartet perform _"The Devil's Trill"_ by Tartini with finesse and virtuosity.

For a moment, she forgot her seething jealousy, her bitterness, her anguish, everything seemed to vanish as she lost herself to the forceful melody of the piece. The Devil's Trill. Yes, a classical piece that aptly named indeed. It is said that the composer, Tartini, saw the Devil play the piece in his dream, and struggled to write it down when he woke up. Not everyone could play the piece flawlessly, but this quartet managed to nail it. She held her breath as the quartet finished the piece with a forceful finale. Pleased by the performance, she called the waiter and handed a hundred-dollar bill and ordered a bottle of Moet en Chandon for the quartet as a tip for their brilliant performance.

After meeting with the quartet, who thanked her graciously for the generous tip, Helga excused herself from them and Vladimir to go at the balcony garden to get some air. It was a chilly evening, so she went out with her red fox coat on. She took out her cigarette pack, lit a stick, and took a deep puff before blowing a smoke upward. The pale silver moon was shining above with few or no clouds to obscure it. A tranquil moment before the the storm, she thought.

_**TSCHK! TSCHK! TSCHK!**_

On the other side of the balcony garden, a blonde lady in a mink coat was struggling with her lighter. Helga recognized the lady right away and decided to approach her.

"Hey," she called out. The blonde lady in mink turned to her, and her eyes shone pale magenta against the pale moonlight.

"Here you go," Helga then tossed her silver Zippo lighter to he. She nearly fumbled as she caught it. She glared at Helga momentarily before she flipped open the lighter, flicked it, and lit her cigarette. After taking a deep puff, she tossed her lighter back without any warning. Helga caught it deftly and placed it back to her purse. Playing years of baseball had paid off, she thought.

They stood side by side, gazing blankly at their front, smoking quietly and blowing their smoke to their front. The magenta-eyed blonde smiled and broke the silence.

"So you're dating your business associate again?"

Helga's eyes narrowed at her, "_Pardon me?_"

"Arnold told me everything. You used to date him five years ago, am I right?" she smirked at her.

"Well, you can say that. And yes, I _might be _dating him again," Helga replied, looking back at her front.

"My, I never thought you preferred men who are, I say, _seasoned,"_ she said, smiling smugly.

_"And by seasoned, I meant a 'dirty old Russian sugar daddy'", _she thought, smiling ever so smugly at Helga.

"Well, that beats a hand-me-down date anytime of the day," Helga retorted, matching Neptune's smug grin.

"Still bitter as ever, Pataki?" Neptune countered, without missing a beat.

Helga shook her head, "Just wondering if he's pleasuring you better than he did back then."

"Oh you bet yah," she snapped back, still keeping her smug, mocking smile. "I say, he's such a ravenous animal in bed. No wonder you're so..._clingy." _She put a special emphasis on the last word.

_"Bitch wants to play hardball, eh? Fine then, have at you!" _Helga thought as she returned her smug smile with an equally mocking smile.

"So that's what being Arnold's latest _cum dumpster _feels like," she retorted, laughing shrilly.

"Better than being a _Russian cum dumpster_," she quickly countered as she joined Helga in her shrill laughter.

They laughed like idiots as they continued throwing insults and barbs at each other.

"Oh, so you must have blown his _cock_ by now? If you did, then you must have known by now what my _pussy _tastes like!" Helga said while laughing shrilly.

"Oh yeah! I _sure do know _what it was like. I say, a little _yeasty, _I guess? Chlamydia, I presume?" she countered while laughing shrilly as well.

"Bitch please," Helga retorted, catching her breath after laughing so hard. "You must have blown his cock _right after _he fucked you. It must be your _own pussy _you've tasted."

They then both laughed shrilly and loudly like idiots.

"Fuck you, you blue-eyed whore," Neptune said as she laughed shrilly.

"Fuck you too, you two-dollar skank," Helga countered as she tried to catch her breath. The laughter slowly died down as they tried to catch their breath, and...

_**WHAAP! WHOOP!**_

Neptune swung her hand and was about to land a loud slap on Helga's face when she managed to catch her hand inches away from her cheeks. Involuntarily, she countered with her left fist flying to violet-eyed blonde's jaw, but she managed to catch her fist as well before it did any damage. They were locked in this position for minutes that seemed hours, both of them seething, their arms locked like two stags whose antlers were caught in mortal combat. Their eyes burned of sapphire and amethyst embers as they snarled like rabid animals bent on tearing each other into pieces.

Finally, they mutually let go of each other, still seething. Helga's burning sapphire orbs glared furiously upon Neptune's amethyst eyes filled with pure fury and hate.

"That's it, Pataki! Enough with the charades and niceties! What do _you_ want?!" she snarled at the blue-eyed blonde.

"For you to take your skanky ass off my turf! You think you can just waltz in and shove me off West Hillwood that easily? Ha! Fat chance, blondie!" she snarled back at her.

Neptune shook her head and smiled mockingly, "Oh Pataki, you give yourself too much credit. The Blonde Devil had reigned in West Hillwood long enough, and I say a change of guards would be very much welcome nowadays. Time to give way to a new age: the age of the Kalashnikov Lady."

Helga laughed shrilly, "Oh God, what stuff had you been snorting? You think by stealing a few clients would win you the whole arms market? I have been in this game long enough to see lots of pretenders like you go down hard at the wake of the Blonde Devil."

"Helga, why can't you just admit defeat and stand down quietly?" Neptune said sternly. "Di Gialo, Escobar, and Gammelthorpe are your biggest clients. If you have a mind for numbers, they constitute more than seventy percent of your total arms sales. Take them out of the equation and you will be left with your small-fry clients. I wonder if you can recoup your losses by focusing solely with them."

"Considering the fact that my prices are a heck lower than yours, it will be a matter of time before they switch over to me, leaving you..._ehem..._clientless," a smug grin drew across Neptune's face.

"And what made you think _that_ would happen?" Helga quickly retorted. "What do you think is the reason that I ordered additional weapons aside from the fuckload of guns I originally ordered, huh!?" Helga grinned at her mockingly.

"To deny me of my own supply for me to sell to your former clients? For you to hoard all the guns so that you can sell them once they ditch me after I fail to fulfill their orders?" Neptune answered snappily. "Helga Pataki, I must have overestimated you after all. I was expecting you to come up with a much cunning plan. Perhaps I am deeply mistaken." She shook her head in disappointment.

"Helga, all I need is a full week for me to replenish my supplies. You _have no idea_ how vast my network and resources are. Even if you try to sweet-talk your old clients into going back to you, the fact still remains that I can still sell the weapons in a price lower than what you can imagine. All I need to do is ask for a few days extension, which I'm sure they are gracious enough to give, and we're all set. Simple law of economics: consumers will always favor products with lower prices."

"The only way you could beat me is by selling your guns that you bought _from me, _and sell them at a price lower than what you bought them for. That is, if you are stupid desperate enough to do that. That will be _purely suicidal."_

Helga's smug grin disappeared rapidly from her face, and froze upon hearing Neptune. She felt a chill jolt down to her spine and spread to her body. It's not the evening chill, but _fear and dread,_ something that Helga rarely felt.

"Face it Helga, whatever you do, _you lose," _Neptune said matter-of-factly. "I have defeated you at every turn. Time for you to gracefully exit the stage, or suffer a more humiliating downfall."

"You have no chance to survive this, make up your time," Neptune then smiled slyly at her, that same sly smile Helga first saw at the Elysium when closed their deal. If she had known, she might as well have signed her own death warrant and the ownership of Elysium to Neptune back then.

Helga sighed defeatedly. Yes, she _might have_ outsmarted her at every turn.

"So all my bases shall belong to yours, is that it?" Helga coldly retorted. "So you have beaten me on every turn, and I am soon to turn into rags and might be living in cardboard boxes. Congratulations, bitch. Clap, clap, take a bow. Now what?"

Neptune drew close to her, "Helga, I am thinking about cancelling your order and refunding you your ten percent deposit. That way, you would not end up financially ruined, you get to keep that club of yours, you keep your dignity and reputation intact, and lead a normal life."

"So," Helga snorted. "You're telling me to _stand down _and retire myself to a pasture, and make way for a new queen. Is that _it?"_

"Well, since you put it that way, yes," Neptune replied without blinking. "Consider this an act of mercy."

"Well, let me tell you this," Helga drew closer to Neptune until her face was only a few inches away from her. "I would rather be _ass-raped with a cactus _than accept any form of mercy from a two-dollar skanky whore such as you."

"No, Neptune," Helga said coldly and sternly. "_You are not_ going to cancel my order. You will _still_ deliver my weapons, _together with my additional order, _at the exact time and place that we originally agreed upon. You can keep my thirty grand deposit for all I care."

"Yeah, _the thirty grand that dirty Russian bastard paid you after you whored out your sorry cunt to him_," Neptune countered, keeping her stern look at her. Helga froze, hearing that from her. She opened her mouth, but now words came out.

"What's the matter, Pataki? What happened to your witty comebacks? Cat got your tongue?" Neptune continued, her lips breaking into a slight mocking smile. "You think I didn't know about that? _I have my ways of knowing."_

_"How did she know?!" _Helga thought, seething. _"Fuzzy Slippers...you bastard..."_

"You're so pathetic, Pataki," she went on. "You still cling to that illusion of yours that you are still the feared Blonde Devil, the one that everybody in West Hillwood underworld fears. Guess what? _You're not."_

"So as the _old_ must yield to the _new_, I am giving you this last chance, Pataki. You'll relinquish the control of Hillwood's arms trade _peacefully_, and I'll cancel your order and refund your deposit. You can save your dignity, live out the rest of your days managing that club of yours for all I care," Neptune said sternly.

Helga turned and walked away from her. She began giggling maniacally as she placed her hand on her forehead and hang her head back. Her giggles escalated to a maniacal laughter. Neptune gave her a puzzled look.

"What the hell, Pataki? Have you gone mad?" she asked her. Helga then stopped laughing after a few minutes.

"It's just that-," she paused to catch her breath. "Life is just fucking cruel. First you steal my Arnold, and now, my reputation and life. Oh Lord. If God ever truly exists, and He is up there playing "The Sims" with all of our lives, then He must have some sick sense of humor."

"Helga, you're not making any sense..."

"Well, I thought so," she then cleared her throat and looked at Neptune darkly. "I have held my throne in West Hillwood long enough for me to know how to defend it. And I have defended it countless times before, and what makes you, another aspiring usurper, different from all of them?"

"I have played this game long enough, Neptune," her fiery sapphire orbs gleamed with steely resolve. "In this game of thrones, you either _win or die. There is no middle ground_."

"And my answer to your offer is obvious. _NO_. So you can take your offer, and shove it back to your _pale white ass_," she said resolutely.

"Fine then, suit yourself," Neptune cooly replied. "I should be heading inside now. It's getting rather chilly in here."

"Likewise," Helga said, smiling at her as if the heated protracted exchange did not happen. "After you, Miss Neptune."

"Gladly, Miss Pataki," Neptune beamed back as they made their way back into the restaurant. They headed back to their respective tables which were at the opposite sides of the restaurant hall, their dates awaiting their return.

"What took you so long?" Vladimir asked Helga as she sat down.

"Just went out for a smoke, and I just bumped into-"

"-Helga," Neptune replied animatedly to Arnold. "We talked a bit, and-"

"-ironed out the details of our deal," Helga explained to Vladimir. "It was tough, I tell you, but-"

"-we managed to reach a common ground, and we're able to finalize and straighten out everything," Neptuned smiled at Arnold. He nodded, and placed his hand over hers.

"I'm glad to hear that you and Helga are getting along just fine," Arnold said, gazing lovingly at her.

"Oh Helga," she smiled back ever so sweetly. "She's nice and sweet, and she's-"

"-dumber than a box of rocks, I tell you," Hega scowled as she describes her meeting with Neptune to Vladimir. "I mean, I would have more fun talking to a brick that with her."

Vladimir chuckled as he shook his head, "Olya, my Olya. I tell you, my little bird, your _pride_ will be the death of yours."

"Maybe yes, _tovarisch_," Helga nodded. "Maybe yes."

Afterb a few minutes, Helga got the bill and paid for it. She held Vladimir's arm as they made their way out of the restaurant and to the parking lot, and to his car where his burly driver awaits them. She then caught the sight of Arnold and Neptune heading to his Packard. Neptune saw them and waved at them. She then headed to their direction, and opened her arms to embrace Helga. They then exchanged sisterly kisses as they bid farewell to each other.

_"Die screaming, you swine-fucking tramp," _Helga whispered as she gave Neptune a sisterly kiss on her cheek.

_"After you fry in bits, you half-dollar skank," _Neptune whispered back when it was her turn to kiss Helga goodbye.

And they waved farewell to each other, smiling, and headed to their respective cars. Before getting in, Neptune took her cellphone out to make a quick call.

"Hello, Hoshiam?" she said. "Yes, everything will go as planned. Get everything ready."

Helga also took her phone out and dialled Sid's number.

"Sid, yes it's me. Listen, I have everything fixed here, so get everything ready. _The show's about to start_."

**A/N: Confused on how this chapter went? Don't hesitate to PM me for questions or clarifications. I spent 8 hours straight writing this chapter in one go, so sorry if the ending seemed a bit abrupt or rushed. Don't forget to leave reviews! ^^,**


	15. Interlude: Speak Softly Love

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters, and setting, and the song "Speak Softly Love" by Andy Williams to which this chapter is named after, and lyrics to the songs "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, "S&M " by Rihanna, and "Fuck You In The Ass" by Outhere Brothers.**

**A/N: As with my previous "interlude chapter", this chapter should not have seen the light of the day. This chapter does nothing to advance the story or plot, but I decided to write it anyway. The events in here was originally planned to be implied, referenced, or mentioned in passing in the next chapter, but I decided to do this chapter so that you guys won't be confused with what Helga and Neptune are going to imply or reference in the coming chapters (yes, it will be 'Girl-to-Girl Action Part 4. XD).**

**This has to be the most graphic chapter I have written, and probably the most tasteless as well. Reader discretion is strongly advised.**

**Interlude: Speak Softly Love**

Georgino Di Gialo's opened his eyes as sunlight slowly flooded his room through the windows. He checked the grandfather clock that stood in front of his bed for the time. 8:30 AM. He covered his head with his sheets, trying to get a snooze before getting out of his bed to start his day. He mentally planned how his day will be like: first, take his Blondi, his Siberian husky, for a walk after breakfast, then head to the bank to authorize the transfer of funds from his account to Miss Neptune's for the ten percent deposit for the arms he will purchase from her. Then a luncheon with his underbosses at Mama Carmela's in Wellington-Lloyd Regency Hotel at noon. Then a meeting with Giacomo Pazzi, the head of a minor family, at Lounge 21 Bar to "discuss an offer he can't refuse". Finally, a night at the opera house with Marinella, his girlfriend, to watch Leoncavallo's _"Pagliacci"_ before they check in to their room at Wellington-Lloyd.

A typical day, he thought. A typical _long_ day. Deciding that he had snoozed long enough, he threw his sheets off him and stretched out his body. He then felt something cold at his feet.

It is something wet and sticky. He wetted his bed? Nah, he stopped bedwetting when he was five, he thought. The roof was leaking? Nah, it didn't rain last night. It must be Blondi or Nyan-Nyan, his Persian cat, who must have decided to turn his bed into a litter box. Those filthy animals, he thought, he's gonna give them a sound beating if he ever get his hands on them. Fuck animal rights and PETA, he's gonna show who's the alpha in this household.

He then got up and dug through his sheets. He then noticed a red sticky liquid stained his sheets and through his mattress as well. Blood? _What the hell is this?, _he thought. Cold sweat began to form on his forehead. He held as his breath as he clutched the sheets and threw it off the bed to uncover a macabre surprise that awaited him.

_"Madonna mia...Dios mio..."_

He gazed in horror at the sight Blondi's bloody severed head staring at him, his bloodshot eyes gazing straight into him, his tongue hanging out on the side. Beside Blondie is a mass of fluffy white fur which now soaked in blood.

_"Nyan-Nyan, no...not my Nyan-Nyan..." _he gasped and sobbed in horror, recognizing the severed head of his Persian cat, her odd-colored eyes staring blankly at the space in front of her, her pink bloody tongue hanging out of her mouth. On the puddle of blood lied a white card stained with blood, a message written in black ink is still legible.

_"Hey have you just seen this?_

_And I know it's terrifyingly crazy_

_But here's my number_

_So call me maybe..._

_407-2486"_

Big Gino's terrified screams filled his whole mansion that morning.

#############################################################

Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd was having breakfast with her parents in their mansion at Hillwood Heights, a posh suburb community only for the city's wealthiest and most powerful. She made it a point to pay them a visit every weekends not only to catch up with the latest news in their family affairs, but to remain in their good graces as well. She knew that they do not approve of her moving in with Thaddeus, despite of him being a "dry-cleaning and laundromat tycoon" of considerable wealth, they still looked down at him with disdain. She could at least maintain good relationship with them keep her in their favor, lest they disown, or worse, _disinherit_ her.

They chatted happily as they had their breakfast of finest French toast, tea, honeycured bacon and egg, and tea. Rhonda was relating to her equally fashionable mother, Brooke, her latest their latest trip to Milan during the fashion week with Thaddeus. He took her with him on his business trip where she shopped at the trendiest boutiques and watched fashion shows, while Curly went on to meet his "Italian business associates" to discuss their "latest entrepreneurial ventures". Buckley, Rhonda's father, seems to be not impressed by Thaddeus Gammelthorpe's attempts to show off his wealth, but nevertheless appreciates him for pampering their only daughter and showering him with much love and care.

Rhonda sipped her tea as she adjusted her red silk scarf wrapped around her neck, covering the darkening hickies that Curly gave her during their last night's rough and steamy lovemaking. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down to her wrists to cover the bruises on her arms she got during one of his violent mood swings. She never dared to wear the Dolce and Gabbana ruffled miniskirt she bought from their trip in Milan, unless she's willing to expose her dark purplish bruises on her smooth thighs that she got when Curly chained and gagged her two nights ago, and started walloping her with a wooden paddle for being "a naughty little slut", which she bore both with pain and pleasure.

She was about to take a bite from her French rolls when Richard, their elderly butler came into their grand dining hall, bearing a medium-sized UPS parcel box.

"Madame, a parcel came for Miss Rhonda Lloyd," he said languidly.

"For me?" Rhonda asked, scowling a bit. "I wonder who's it from."

"It's from," Richard cleared his throat. "Mister Thaddeus Gamelthorpe."

Her eyes widened, "Curly?! Why would she send something to me? We live together. Why can't he simply _hand it over_?"

Brooke laughed, "Oh Rhon, honey. Where being _romantic _with that? Maybe he wants to surprise you, that's why. Why, your father still sends flowers over the mail even though we're basically living under the same roof," she then broke into a giggle before giving Buckley a kiss.

"A surprise? Well, I guess so," she gaped at the parcel as the butler handed it over to her, hesitating to open it. She knew Curly, and she knew him _well. _Curly _never_ sends gift over the mail. He would see to it that he would be the one who would personally give it to her, or at least have one of his most trusted men deliver it to her if he's unavailable.

"Well honey, what are you waiting for? Let's see what your _amour _got for you," Brooke urged excitedly. Rhonda shrugged and gingerly peeled away the packaging tape.

She opened the box and fished out what seems to be a leather bikini with a cone-shaped bra, bound together with a long criss-crossing silver chain that extended all the way to the back to form some sort of a leash for the one who will be wearing it. Rhonda's jaw almost dropped when she recognized what it was.

_"What the fuck...!"_

"Honey, what is it?" Buckley asked, seeing Rhonda quickly stuffing it back to the box.

"Ummm...It's a...body leash! Yeah! A leather body leash! Hehe!" she nervously replied.

"A body leash? For what?" her mother curiously asked.

"Uhh...for...for our dog! Yeah, that's it, Thaddeus got our dog a body leash!" she answered, nervously nodding.

"I never knew you had a dog," her father said skeptically.

"We just got a dog. A Rottweiler. He got me a dog so that I won't get lonely when I'm in our flat," she replied, trying her best not to stammer. God, she's terrible at lying, she thought.

"Aww, isn't your Thaddeus sweet," her mother swooned, oblivious what _the "body leash" was really for._

"So let's see the rest of his gifts," her father stood up quickly, headed to her, and quickly fished out a gimp mask with a plastic ball gag without any warning.

"What's this?" Buckley asked her daughter, who was gawking at the gimp mask in horror.

"Oh, that is a..." she struggled to quickly come up with an excuse. "Muzzle. Yeah, a muzzle! For our dog!"

"Isn't this a bit too..._cruel_ for your dog?" he said, examining the ball gag of the gimp mask.

"No, Dad. That's _perfectly okay. _Rottweilers have bite force like of those of a wolf's, so we don't want to take any chances if he goes crazy if I take him out for a walk," Rhonda explained. She thanked God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, or whoever was out there for making her parents _so naive_ about dogs, and _kinky sex_.

"And what's this?" Brooke asked as she ogled a shiny silver tubular object shaped like small artillery shell.

"Oh," her mother exclaimed as she flicked the switch at the base of the "artillery shell", and it started vibrating with a dull buzz.

"Oh," Rhonda bit her lip in horror, the color on her face drained as she gaped at the "vibrating toy". "That's a neck massager. I have quite a sore neck, so Thaddeus must have gotten me this. Heheh."

"Oh, it feels good, Buckley," she said as she rubbed the "neck massager" on her neck, up and down, and to the back of her head.

"Come here Buckley, you should try this," she then handed the "massager" to her husband, who then rubbed it across his neck.

"Thaddeus' gifts are, I say," Buckely said, still enjoying the "neck massager". "Quite _peculiar._"

"Well, you gotta love him for that," Rhonda said, grabbing the gimp mask and the "neck massager" and putting it back in the box. "Well, I'm done with breakfast. I gotta sort his presents out. I'll be in my room." She then stood up and rushed to her room.

In the privacy her spacious room, she screamed in anger and threw the box blindly, strewing its contents across the room, some landing on the floor, others on her queen-sized bed. An assortment of dildos, vibrators, handcuffs, chains, leatherette suits, masks, and other S&M gear spilled out of the box. She cursed Curly as she wailed and screamed. That's it, he had gone _way too far_ this time. She may have tolerated, and even came _to love, _her abusive side, but he had certainly crossed the line this time. She'll be packing her suitcases first thing in the morning tomorrow and returning here in her family mansion. She would rather swallow her pride and endure her parents berating her non-stop for moving in with a _psychotic freak _like Curly than to spend one more day with his abuse.

As she looked across her room, Curly's "presents" strewn on the floor, she then noticed some photographs strewn with it as well. It must be in the bottom of the box that's why she never noticed them. Wiping her tears, she gathered them all, and looked at each and one of them. She gasped in terror as she saw the images on each of them.

Rhonda, chained and gagged in a leather bikini. Rhonda, in doggy position, handcuffed to the bed. Rhonda, tied to the ceiling, being whipped by Curly. Rhonda, gagged by a gimp mask, handcuffed while Curly was cruelly thrusting his manhood from behind. Rhonda, covered in chocolate whipped cream while Curly was licking the cream off her. Rhonda, naked, her legs spread, screaming in sweet agony as Curly mercilessly probed her with a vibrator inside her folds. Rhonda...

"NOOOOOOOO!" she screamed, throwing the photos away from her. She curled up in a corner, sobbing, wailing furiously. Suddenly, she caught the sight of a small white card at the corner of her eye. Still sobbing, she picked it up. There's a message written in black ink:

_"Stick and stones may break my bones_

_But chains and whips excite you_

_You like it, like it, come on, come on!_

_407-2486."_

Like a lightning, a realization hits her. It's _not Curly_ who sent out the parcel. She quickly grabbed her cell phone and dialled the number. The phone on the other end of the line rang twice before someone picked it up.

###############################################################

Victor Escobar threw a fierce straight right knockout punch on the punching bag, almost sending it flying off if not for his personal boxing trainer who held it firmly. Standing 6'2" and more than 250 lbs of pure muscle, he could have easily killed a bull with that punch. He stood back as he threw more killer punches on it, his enormous fist creating a hollow point on the punching bag. Satisfied with his training, he called it a day and sat on the bench where one of his men handed him a towel and a bottle of Gatorade.

He greedily drank the contents of the bottle, and looked at his rreflection on the mirror on the opposite wall. His heavily built sweaty body was filled with gang tattoos he accumulated from the day he got was incarcerated in the juvenile hall when he was fifteen for gunning down the storekeeper in a corner liquor store, to the day he served his time at Hillwood State Penitentiary for drug trafficking and murder. Most prominent of all his tattoos was the sorrowful face of the Suffering Christ on his chest, bleeding from His crown of thorns, looking forlornly to the heavens. Below His face is an inscription, "Father, in Your hands I commend My Spirit."

'Intimidating' was the word that would immediately describe him, with his cleanly-shaved head, thick moustache and goatee that he never shaves off, and his sharp eagle-eye glare that would make anyone think twice when dealing with him. He controls a large part of the drug trade in Hillwood. He fought tooth and nail too maintain his and his group's supremacy among drug traders in the city underworld. It was with that supremacy that he was able to leave his ratty apartment in the bad part of West Hillwood and afford a mansion in Hillwood Heights, with his own bar, boxing gym, swimming pool, all the luxuries that he could only imagine when he was just a street urchin.

His biggest competition was the Chinese Triad, who had long dominated the drug market in East Hillwood and were making moves to expand their market in his turf. Fat chance, he thought. But he needs to be wary of them, especially with their renewed strength after they have allied with the Yakuza. For this, the need for him to defend his turf is greater than ever. And for this, he needs guns. Lots of guns.

For his weaponry needs, he normally turns to Helga Pataki, the regular gun runner in West Hillwood. But recently, he made the acquaintance of a certain violet-eyed blonde who offered the same number of guns for a significantly lower price. What's her name again? Sounded like a planet, star, or something. He's really terrible with names. It must be the effect of the blows he received on his head starting from his abusive alcoholic father to that big ugly black inmate he killed in prison.

He was about to hit the showers when he heard a commotion coming from the patio. He went out to see what is it. He saw his men carrying a naked man, save for his filthy boxers, tied up and gagged, and a burlap sack covering his head. They laid him on the ground as Escobar headed to them.

**"What's going on here?" **he asked his men in Spanish.

**"Boss, we found him at the gate five minutes ago. We don't know who dropped him in there, but we saw a black cargo van speeding away," **one of them answered.

Escobar knelt down on the man and removed the burlap sack covering his head, revealing a handsome young Caucasian man who appears to be either in his late teens or early twenties. His shaggy black hair covered most of his face. He was shivering from both the cold and fear. A thick duct tape that covered his mouth, muffling his groans.

On his filthy white boxers, a large message was written with a black marker.

_"Flip to back."_

He turned the man over to his belly, and on his buttocks, another message was written in black marker:

_"Victor Escobar's Butt Buddy"_

**"What's the meaning of this?! Who did this?!" **Escobar roared to his men, who shrank back in fear. He was known for his violent outbursts, and have almost beaten the nearest man he could get his hands to death on one occassion.

Unable to get any answer from his men, he turned to the naked man, and noticed an old-fashioned mini-cassette tape player was duct-taped on his back. A white tag with a message "PRESS PLAY TO START" written in black ink was attached to it. Hesitating, he pressed the play button. A dirty R&B song began playing:

_"I wanna fuck you in the ass!_

_I wanna fuck you in the ass!_

_I wanna fuck you in the ass!"_

Escobar, in his fury, ripped out the tape player from the man's back and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into smithereens. He was seething as his men fidgetted in terror, afraid what their boss would do.

**"Find the one who did this! I don't care if you turn whole Hillwood upside down! Just find him, bring him to me alive! GOOOOOO!" **he roared as his men, who frantically scrambled and left the patio to fulfill their boss' orders.

Seeing that everybody had left, and alone with the young man, Escobar knelt down and embraced the naked man _tenderly, _cradling him in his arms.

"Who did this to you, baby? Are you hurt? Are you scared? Did they hurt you? Don't cry now, _no one will hurt you. _Hush, Papa Victor is here for you now," he cooed softly, and then he kissed his lips passionately, and they then melted into each other's arms

A feet away from the "couple", the cassette tape laid in the middle of the shattered fragments of the cassette player. It had survived the impact. On the cassette tape, a white paper taped on it bore a telephone number written in blank ink:

_"407-2468"_

###############################################################

"It is done," a man reported to the shadow who was hunched on the table.

"Perfect," the shadow acknowledged in a thin, cold voice.

**A/N: And that concludes the "interlude chapter" of Hillwood Noir. The next chapter might take a little longer for it to be posted, but I promise it will be more tense than any other chapters, action-packed, and simply kickass. ^^, Be kind, and review, please. ^^,**


	16. Act 12: Bullet With Butterfly Wings

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the song "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpkins to which this chapter is named after.**

**The chain-smoking, caffeine-addict, hopeless romantic, frequently-friendzoned author of this fic dubs this 7k+ words long-ass chapter "Girl-to-Girl Action Part 5". XD Don't forget to leave reviews! ^^, And so it begins...**

**Act 12: Bullet With Butterfly Wings**

"So it finally came to this," the blonde with fiery sapphire eyes said as she aimed her Smith and Wesson Model 500 revolver on the other blonde who stood a few feet from her.

"Yes, you can say that again," the blonde with fiery amethyst eyes replied as she aimed her Desert Eagle handgun to the revolver-wielding blonde as well.

_**CLICK! CLICK!**_

They both pulled back the hammer of their weapons at the same time, ready to fire a slug at each other at any slightest provocation. Their fiery sapphire and amethyst orbs locked at each other, unblinking. They stood like statues, not moving a even single muscle.

"Either one of us _has to go down, _Neptune_,"_ the blue-eyed blonde said, grinning at her, tightening her grip on her revolver.

"For the first time, Helga, I cannot agree with you more," the violet-eyed blonde concurred, chuckling a bit as she gripped her handgun.

Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes seemed like hours. No one stirred. No one dared to shoot first. Like poker players pulling bluffs at each other, they would teasingly stroke the trigger of heir weapons, hoping to throw one another off-guard and plant a slug into another's body.

_**One hour earlier...**_

Neptune had been ratty as hell for today. Why wouldn't she? _All_ of her three biggest clients have called in the same day _cancelling _their orders. Di Gialo says that "he has more urgent matters to appropriate the money for", while Gammelthorpe says that "acquiring her merchandise was no longer in his priority". Escobar, the first one who have called to cancel, did not state any reasons for doing so. It is as if bad luck had decided to strike its hardest at Neptune on that day.

Or maybe it's not bad luck. Someone must be behind this.

She found it a little _too odd_ that three of them would cancel all at the same time, save for her remaining client: Helga Pataki.

Helga Pataki, that wicked sly devil. She must have convinced those three to cancel, she thought. No, persuasion _wasn't_ Pataki's way of doing business. She must have intimidated, or blackmailed them into cancelling. That _sounded more_ like Helga. She must have dug up dirt on those three and used them as blackmail material.

So this must be the one she had up in her sleeve. Clever girl. Just when she thought that she had outsmarted her in every turn, she suddenly comes back with this fierce and sly counter-attack.

She hates to admit it, but it seemed like Helga had turned the tables on her.

This transaction with Pataki _had to_ push through, by hook or by crook. Otherwise, she will be sitting on a cache of weapons no one wants to buy. Worse of all, she had paid for only _the half of the total price_ of the whole shipment to her Eastern European suppliers. If this transaction screws up, not only she will have a trouble of storing all of these weapons, but her suppliers will be after her as well. They were notoriously known for ruthlessly "collecting debts", and would not tolerate Neptune's failure to pay the rest of her balance. She shuddered at the thought of what, or where, she could end up if she messes up this transaction.

"Time"? she impatiently asked her assistant.

A brown-eyed lady with square-framed glasses looked at her wristwatch, "8:32, Mistress."

She sighed, mist forming in front of her, "Thanks, Hoshiam." Dammit, Pataki was running late. Don't she ever dare to stand her up with this "exchange", or she would not hesitate to order Elysium to be torched to the ground _right this evening_, she thought.

South Pier was their appointed meeting place. In one of the warehouses, this is where they will make the "exchange", finalize the transaction, and part ways, hopefully not to cross each other's path after this "business deal made in hell". This would be the last time he would do business with Pataki, she swore to herself. She proved to be a tough client, tougher than the Yakuza or the Chinese Triad whom she previously transacted with.

The cargo ship containing her shipment had arrived two nights ago, and under the cover of darkness, had all the weapons unloaded and stowed in this warehouse for time being until the night of the "exchange" comes. The cost of transport, bribes for port officials and some dirty cops to look the other way, fake documentation for the cargo, and hiring her whole heavily-armed security detail was large enough to make Neptune shudder whenever she thinks of it. She calmed herself with the thought that if everything goes right, the money she would be collecting from Helga would be more than enough for her to recoup the costs.

She dug her hands inside her black parka jacket. It was a chilly evening, and the evening sea breeze was not helping either. She could taste the salty sea breeze with her lips. Her hands were clammy despite of having leather gloves on. Inside her jacket, she felt her fully-loaded Desert Eagle handgun holstered on her waist. _Insurance, _she calls it, just in case this deal goes bad. After all, Helga Pataki was likely to be packing as well. Even her seemingly innocent assistant, Hoshiam, with her long brown straight hair, full lips, and that square-framed glasses she told her to get rid of ages ago, packs a SIG Sauer handgun beneath her trench coat. Behind her were the hired mercenaries, or as she refers to them, her "security detail", packing with either MP5 or Skorpion submachinegun. When dealing with someone who gained a reputation as the Blonde Devil, you can never be too sure.

Finally, from the distance, a faint sound of a car engine was heard. Static crackled on Hoshiam's walkie-talkie, the sentry posted on the pier entrance relaying a radio message. She nodded and leaned towards Neptune.

"Mistress, they're here."

Neptune sighed out of relief, "Perfect," she smiled. "Alright boys, stay sharp. It's showtime." She said to her "security detail".

From a distance, a pair of headlights appeared from the darkness. As the headlights drew nearer, it revealed a gray Hummer. _That's it?_ Neptune was expecting someone of Helga's reputation to arrive with a convoy of cars filled with heavily-armed men. Again, she must have overestimated her.

The Hummer stopped in front of Neptune and her crew. The engine and headlights died, and a lanky man wearing a black suit got out of the driver's seat. He got a prominent fleshy nose, which kinda looks like had been slapped on to his face. His stringy hair had been neatly combed back. A burly bald man in a black leather jacket got out of the shotgun seat as well. The lanky man headed to the backseat and opened the door, and a lovely blue-eyed blonde stepped out.

"Well, well, speak of the _Devil,"_ Neptune smirked at her as she looked at her. "Looking good, Pataki."

Helga snorted in disgust as she eyed Neptune. Helga wearing a long leather trench coat, a black fur beret, a gray silk scarf to cover her neck, black capri pants underneath, matched with black combat boots. She was wearing leather gloves as well, but half of her thumb and forefinger on both hands were exposed. _Gunslinger gloves, _as she calls it. Helga reminds Neptune of Faye Dunnaway from that classic _Bonnie and Clyde_ film.

"You're not bad yourself, Neptune," she forced a smile at her. Neptune was wearing a pleated gray tartan miniskirt, black stockings, and high-cut stiletto boots. _A femme fatale against a femme fatale_, Helga thought.

"Someone seems to be ratty today," Helga quipped, sensing Neptune's unease. She then smiled slyly and knowingly.

"Speak for yourself, Pataki," she countered, biting her lip, forcing a smirk.

"Well, I'm not here for 'girl-on-girl-trash-talk-part-two'. As much as I want to indulge you with your base desire to _disparage_ me, I just want to get this whole thing _over with_. So let's cut the chase and get on with it," Helga said seriously, folding her arms across her chest.

"Ever so impatient, Pataki?" she chuckled. "Very well, follow me then."

They then headed to entrance of the warehouse in front of them together of their armed escort. Helga looked around, sizing up Neptune's "security detail". More than fifteen, or even twenty, all armed with automatic weapons, clad in full battle gear. Two beat-up Dodge Ram trucks with a 50-caliber machinegun mounted on the back were posted near the entrance of the warehouse. The men on the machineguns eyed them cautiously as they made their way to the entrance.

Neptune spared no dime with her hired goons, Helga thought. She dug her hands inside her trench coat, feeling "Old Betsy", her Lupara sawed-off shotgun, and "The Five Avengers", her Smith & Wesson Model 500 revolver. _For insurance, _she told herself as the reason for bringing both of her "hand cannons". But even with them, they were still heavily outnumbered, let alone outgunned. Sid had only his measly Walther P99 handgun, the one he always carries for personal protection. While Lou, Helga's bald burly bouncer at the Elyrium who now moonlights as his bodyguard, fared no better with his Glock 17 pistol. _Calm yourself, Helga_, she said to herself_. _As long as they stick to the plan, nothing could go wrong.

Two of Neptune's men pushed the heavy sliding doors open, revealing a spacious warehouse filled with stacks of rusty container vans, crates, and scattered coils of manila rope and cables. Neptune signalled for the warehouse lights to be turned on, revealing a stack of crates on the middle covered with heavy gray tarpaulin.

"Hoshiam, if you may please," Neptune ordered her assistant. She nodded and headed to the crates and threw the tarpaulin cover off.

"Mama mia," Sid exclaimed as he gawked at the crates of weapons, still bearing the Soviet Red Army markings on their sides. Hoshiam unlocked and opened the top crates first, revealing Kalashnikovs in pristine state. She then opened the smaller boxes, revealing Kalashnikov magazines and ammunition. Helga headed to the crates, took a Kalashnikov, examined it carefully, placed its stock against her shoulder and pointed the muzzle to Neptune, set her between the sights of the assault rifle, pulled the bolt back, and flicked the trigger...

_**CLICK!**_

"Bang, you're dead," Helga said to her playfully, grinning, and placed the Kalashnikov back to the crate. Neptune chuckled and shook her head. While her men all were nervously pointing their guns at Helga's direction, she didn't even flinch. _Of course, _she knew that the guns _weren't loaded. _She motioned them to calm down, and everything was fine.

She watched as Helga and her crew inspected the Kalashnikovs and the RPD machineguns. There was a feeling of unease welling within her. _Something was not right_, she thought. She expected Helga to arrive with an army of heavily armed guards in tow, but why she came with only two of her _seemingly unarmed _bodyguards? And where was her Asian assistant, the one she's always with? In all of their previous meetings (with the exception of their little run-in at Chez Paris), she was always with that Asian girl, always following her like her own shadow. And most of all, how _the hell _are they going to carry all of these weapons? They didn't bring any trucks or any extra vehicles other than their Hummer. Are they going to stow all these weapons in this warehouse and pick them up later? If that's the case, the upkeep and storage for all of these will _certainly _no longer be her problem after the sale was finalized.

Neptune pushed all of these worries to the back of her mind. No, she's just overthinking. Helga and her crew seems to be satisfied so far. This deal will go on without a hitch, she assured herself. All she needed to do was to get Helga's electronic signature authorizing the transfer of funds from Helga's account to her offshore account, and they could get the hell out of here. She and Arnold would go on a Mediterranean cruise, buy a house in Ibiza or in any of the British Isles, and they could start a new life together. She'll forget her gunrunning business while Arnold can abandon bounty hunting for good. Yes, they'll get away far from here. And there, they will forget everything, and Arnold will eventually forget _Helga G. Pataki. _And they will live happily ever after. Screen fade to black. _Fini._

Helga aimed the RPG-7 launcher and pulled the trigger, resounding a dull click. She was impressed by the quality of the weapons delivered by Neptune. These were far superior than the cheap low-quality fabricated copies she used to get from her old supplier. These were in pristine condition, albeit hailing from the Soviet era. She returned the RPG-7 launcher to its crate and examined the hammer, sickle, and star insignia together with the Cyrilic letters, CCCP, on the side of the crate. Military grade, the way she ordered it. How Neptune got her hands on this military hardware, she could only wonder.

Hoshiam opened the last of the crates, revealing a pair of Dragunov SVD sniper rifles. Helga took out one, put the wooden stock against her shoulder, and pointed the muzzle upward, peering at the sniper scope. She pulled back the bolt, then flicked the trigger, resounding a shrill metallic click. _Perfect, _she thought.

Seeing Helga was almost finished testing and appraising her weapons, Neptune headed towards her with a tablet in hand.

"So how do you like it?" she asked her, flashing a smug smile.

"Well, I have to admit, Neptune. I'm impressed," Helga replied, smiling a bit, without looking at her, still inspecting the Dragunov rifle.

"Top quality military-grade weapons. You could not expect anything less from me," she said, grinning.

"I hate to say this, but _I agree with you_," Helga said, putting back the the sniper rifle on its crate, and snapping the cover of its crate close.

"So, Helga, since you seem to be pleased with my wares, and I don't to hold you back any further, I guess this is the part where we seal the deal," she handed her tablet to Helga together with its stylus, smiling smugly at her. Helga took the tablet and stylus, and looked at it. It is an electronic account transfer form from Credit Suisse in Switzerland. The amount to be transferred, all the other account information had been filled out. The only thing missing was her signature.

Helga grinned, drew close to Neptune, and shoved the tablet hard to her chest, "Sorry blondie, but I'm no longer interested. _Deal's off."_

Neptuned gaped at Helga, flabbergasted. She felt a sudden chill envelop her whole body, as if all of her blood had been drained away from her at that moment.

"Wha-WHAT?!" She almost dropped her tablet in disbelief.

"You deaf? I said the _deal's off, _Neptune. I'm not buying," Helga said sternly, and turned to her "bodyguards", "Sid, Lou, let's go. We're leaving."

"Wa-wait?! I thought you liked the guns?! What gives?!" Neptune screamed, almost crying in disbelief.

Helga turned to her, giving her an icy glare, "I _specifically _ordered _three Dragunov SVD sniper rifles _in addition to my original order. I saw only _two. _Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Neptune?"

"N-no, Helga! There m-must be some mistake..." she stammered, tears now welling in her eyes.

"If there is, Neptune, this is the _bad time_ to make one," Helga snapped back coldly. "I made myself clear before. Not a bullet less, Neptune. _Not a bullet less._"

"No! I-it's there, I swear...wait, Helga!" she grabbed her arm, like a jilted lover hopelessly begging for her love to return. "Hoshiam! Open all the crates! Find the missing Dragunov! It must be misplaced somewhere!"

"But Mistress, I did the inventory myself. I swear there was..."

"DO IT NOW!" she screamed shrilly at her assistant.

Hoshiam, together with two other men, frantically unstacked the crates and opened them one by one. Kalashnikovs littered the ground as they were carelessly tossed aside in a frantic search for the missing firearm. They rummaged through the RPD light machineguns, then to the RPG-7s, and finally to the Dragunovs. Each of the sniper rifle was marked with a number on the stock. Only "1" and "2" were present, but "3" was nowhere to be found.

Their search had been useless. The elusive sniper rifle "3" did not turn up. Hoshiam gave her mistress a hopeless look, shaking herb head in despair. Neptune could only look back in agony.

"Well, looks like that Dragunov isn't going back anytime soon," Helga sneered as she headed to the warehouse's door with Sid and Lou in tow.

"Wait, Helga! Don't go yet! We could sort this thing out!" Neptune pathetically called out after her. "I could give you _all the Dragunov _you have ordered first thing in the morning tomorrow! Hell, I could even throw another one _for free! _Just reconsider this deal, Helga!"

Helga turned at her, gloating over Neptune's pathetic pleas, "Jesus, Neptune, look at _yourself_. I believe a few days ago, you were offering me _your mercy_, and now you're _begging for mine?_ Karma's such a bitch, _isn't it?_" she sneered before turning away from her, and walked towards the warehouse's door.

Neptune angrily clutched her tablet, almost crushing it. Tears were now flowing down her cheeks. Anger. Agony. Hate. A bit of regret. She did not know what exact emotion was _in her_ at the moment. Ruined, yes she's ruined. The cost of all these weapons, the transport, bribes, the armed men, no, there's no way she can recoup her losses. All the nights of scheming and favor-currying with Helga's old clients, all had gone to waste. Yes, she's _definitely_ ruined. Her plans for Arnold and her, _ruined. _All in the account of the blonde bitch. Helga. Geraldine. Pataki.

That blonde whore, Neptune thought. She must have been planning this all along. Neptune should have known. She had no plans of doing business with her nor _pushing through_ with this transaction after all. She must be laughing herself sick deep inside her. What was she planning next, get rid of her and steal back her Arnold? _Fuck her! Fuck her hard with a hedgehog! _Over her dead rotting corpse, Neptune thought. She was seething as she dug deep into her parka fur coat.

No, she would not allow anyone, including this _blonde devil whore_ from stealing away her Arnold.

No, she would not allow herself to be ruined, and be hunted down like vermin by her Easter European suppliers after defaulting her debts.

No, she would not allow herself to fall hard like this.

No, she will not allow this _blonde heartless whore_ to win. Not now, _not ever_.

Because she had numbers on her side. She had the advantage. And most of all, she had something that Helga _fucking_ Pataki didn't have.

_Insurance._

_**CLICK! TSCHK! CLICK! CLICK! TSCHCHK!**_

A chorus of guns being simultaneously drawn out and cocked filled the warehouse. Helga and her crew were frozen at their tracks, starting at more than twenty gun barrels pointed at them. Even the men manning the 50-caliber machineguns pointed the muzzle to their direction. Everywhere Helga looked, there was a gun barrel staring down at her.

"Fuck," was all Helga could say at that moment.

Sid and Lou drew out their guns instinctively and pointed it to the first man they saw. They nervously pointed, switching targets now and then. They were fidgeting, unsure where to point first. Only Helga seemed to be unshaken by this sudden turn of events. A scowl formed on her eyebrows as she eyed the guards annoyingly.

She turned to Neptune, "What's the meaning of this?"

The muzzle of a Desert Eagle pistol was staring at her dead in the eye. Behind it was Neptune, whose curly blonde hair now appears disheveled. She was giggling like crazy as tears flowed freely down her cheeks, leaving mascara trails from her eyes.

"My God, you have lost your marbles, blondie!" Helga exclaimed, glaring at the giggling/crying blonde pointing a Desert Eagle handgun at her.

"Oh did I?! Bwahahahaha!" She began to laugh maniacally. That's it, Neptune had _clearly_ lost it. Helga could only look at her with disgust and pity.

"You think you have won, Pataki?! You think that by stealing back your clients and ditching this deal after being such a _cocktease _would win you this battle?! _Hell fucking no_!" she screamed at Helga.

"Is this how you do business, Neptune?" Helga snapped back. "Can't take a little rejection?"

"Little?! You call this _little_?!" She began laughing maniacally, then suddenly began to cry. "You have _no idea_ what hell I went through for _all of these_!" She pointed to the crates of weapons now scattered on the ground.

"Do that include stealing my clients, attempting to steal the Hillwood arms market, and charming and _stealing Arnold away?!" _Helga countered, unfazed by Neptune's hysterics.

"OH! Oh! Oooohhhhhh!" Neptune gasped and laughed hysterically. "Oh Jesus! How could I be so dumb?! How come I didn't see that?! This was all about him, isn't it?"

Helga was silent, looking at Sid and Lou, who seemed to be anticipating her reply as they kept their handguns pointed at Neptune's men.

Neptune drew closer to Helga, nudging her cheek with the muzzle of her Dessert Eagle. "Tell me, _this was all about him_, isn't it?"

"What if I say, _yes_?" Helga answered defiantly, keeping a straight face.

"And you want him back?" she asked, nudging Helga's other cheek with her gun. "You want him back, _bitch_?!"

Helga nodded, wincing away from the cold muzzle of Neptune's handgun.

"And you think if you'll sign the authorization, I'll give him back to you?"

_"You crazy bimbo! How dare you take Arnold as hostage for your twisted, lame-brained schemes! I'll see that you pay for this!" _

Helga shrugged, "Well, sounds like a fair bargain to me. As long as you won't double-cross me, _again._"

Neptune giggled at first, then escalated to a hysterical laughter, "No, Pataki! You can't have him! And he won't even _want_ to have you back either."

"_Liar._"

"Face it, Helga. The guy _doesn't_ even love you anymore!" Neptune went on. "You think he would still love you after _what you did_?"

Helga shuddered. "_Lies._"

"You think he would love someone who would shoot him in the back, _literally_?" she said right in Helga's face, then drawing away from her with an devilish smile.

"_No, no, no, no_!" A fat teardrop ran from her eye and down to her cheeks. She's unable to keep her straight face. Terror, anguish, anger, and fear began to show on her teary blue eyes. Neptune had finally cracked Helga Pataki.

All the emotions and memories from that night at the airport came gushing back to her mind. Arnold's emerald eyes, questioning her, begging her, _"Why Helga? Don't do this..." _And that moment that she made her fateful choice, and pulled the trigger...

"Liar...you lying whore..." Helga angrily muttered.

"Am _I?" _she asked mockingly. "Arnold told me everything. Oh, how he despised you, Pataki. How he tells me that everytime we _made love_, wishing that he had never loved you if he knew that you will be the death of him. God, Pataki, you should have heard how he whispers that I am _a better lay_ than you were..."

_**WHAAP!**_

Helga's palm landed heavily and loudly on Neptune's face, sending her reeling to the ground. Neptune's men raised their guns and set their sights on to Helga. Sid and Lou snickered and cheered for Helga, and forgot for a moment that they could be peppered by a hail of bullets any second now.

"Mistress!" Hoshiam cried as she rushed to Neptune's side, helping her up to her feet. Neptune held her reddening cheek. She looked at Helga, who was glowering down on her.

"Spare me the lurid details of your relationship, _whore_," Helga said coldly.

Neptune instead smiled smugly at her. She then stepped closer to Helga and...

_**WHOOOP!**_

...swung her handgun to her, hitting her square on the jaw, sending her reeling to the ground.

"Helga!" Sid rushed to her side to help her up. She felt something warm flowing from her swollen lip down to her chin. She quickly wiped it off with the back of her hand. _Blood_. She looked balefully at Neptune as she got up back on her feet.

"Can't take a little rejection?" she asked mockingly. Neptune grinned ever so smugly. She knew that odds were finally sliding back to her favor.

"Enough with this nonsense, Pataki. You had put up enough show for tonight," Neptune said, keeping her handgun pointed at her.

"First, tell your boys to drop their weapons and kick it away as far as they could."

Helga turned to Sid and Lou, "What she said."

They looked at each other dumbly before dropping their guns on the ground and kicking them away from them.

Hoshiam then handed the tablet to Helga. She hesitated for a moment before she took it from her.

"Sign it, and I _may_ let you live," she said sternly. "You can have your guns, and _your lives_ as well. I'm not gonna pull a fast one here. This is a one-time offer. _Campfire Lass's honor._" She jokingly flashed the three-fingered Campfire Lass salute.

Neptune finally felt confident with her newly-found advantage. Yes, letting Helga live is the best move for the moment, she thought. She may not had got the Hillwood arms market, but at least she has the money, and most importantly, _Arnold_. Helga can take all the time plotting her revenge for all she cared. If she makes a move against her, that would only make Arnold totally turn against her. Her simple disdain will turn into a seething hate. That would make it easier for her to bring down Helga to her knees. And along with Helga's downfall, the control over Hillwood's arms trade would fall into her hands.

The Hillwood's arms market, with Arnold in her arms. _Perfect._

She smiled devilishly at her plan. Yes, she could not have conceived anything more better than this one. Now that she ruffled Helga's feathers and made her crack, it will be easier to manipulate her. If she still refuses to sign the authorization, maybe she could shoot one of her legs to show she means business, _Jack Bauer _style.

Helga stared blankly at the tablet, holding the stylus, hesitating to affix her signature on the bottom of the electronic form. Suddenly, she felt a cold muzzle of Neptune's Desert Eagle press against her forehead, and a soft metallic click of its hammer being pulled back rang out.

"You have ten seconds to choose whether it will be your signature or brains on that form," Neptuned snarled threateningly.

Helga did not react to her threats. She was as if lost in her thoughts. Then, out of nowhere, a light smirk formed on her swollen lips. She turned her gaze to Neptune, and smiled.

"Game over, blondie."

_**WHOOOSHH! KABOOOOM!**_

The whole warehouse was rocked by a loud explosion, making everyone running for cover. Hoshiam was knocked off her feet by the explosion. She saw one of the Dodge Ram truck posted near the warehouse entrance hit by some unseen force, sending it somersaulting to the air before landing on its side. The guard manning the 50-caliber machinegun was sent flying to the air before landing hard to the ground, tumbling and rolling like a rag doll. Neptune's men were in panic, some firing aimlessly to the darkness. Neptune looked at the burning wreckage of the Dodge Ram truck, noticing a dull smoke trail slowly dissipating away. She knew it: an RPG rocket attack. But by who?

Suddenly, three black cargo vans came bursting through the pier gates, and came into a screeching halt in front of the warehouse. The doors burst open and several men armed with Kalashnikovs rushed out of the van and fired right away at Neptune's men. The gun battle between the two groups ensued.

Neptune got up to her feet and looked at the chaos that ensued after the explosions. Everywhere, burst of gunshots rang out, her men desperately trying to hold off the attack by the Kalashnikov-toting men. Her assistant, Hoshiam, took cover behind a forklift, firing at them blindly with her Skorpion submachinegun. She picked up her Desert Eagle and went deeper inside the warehouse and into the maze of container vans with one person in mind: Helga Pataki.

Anticipating the rocket attack, Helga took advantage of the confusion after the explosion to whip out Old Betsy and shoot the nearest guard she could set her eyes on. Sid and Lou quickly rushed to the weapons crate, and took the Kalashnikovs lying on the ground for themselves, and loaded them. Sid took an extra Kalashnikov and slung it on his back. They then rushed to Helga's side to defend her. With their backs on each other, the three fired at all directions to Neptune's men who came rushing towards them.

"Reloading!" she hollered after fired her last shell on to the man who has the muzzle of his MP5 submachinegun pointed at her, hitting him on the chest and knocking him down to the ground.

"Go! We got you covered, Helga!" Sid hollered back above the burst of gunshots. He turned to Helga's side and fired two quick bursts at the men who were aiming their guns at them, sending them scurrying behind a stack of crates for cover.

In a rehearsed move, Helga flicked the breech lock of her Lupara open, broke the breech open, ejected the smoking empty shells before shoving new shells in each barrel, and in one brisk move, whipped the barrel up, locking the breach and readying the shotgun for action, unmindful of the bullets that whistled past above her. Neptune did a poor job of signing up a bunch lousy shots as her security detail, she thought. They were just there, standing, without any cover, and they can't even hit them with their automatic weapons.

More men came rushing towards them. Seeing that they were severely disadvataged at this point, Helga turned to Lou and Sid.

"Fall back!" she shouted as she fired one more shot at their enemies. Sid and Lou nodded and fired a quick burst before running with Helga to the warehouse's interior, and into the maze of rusty container vans. There, they have plenty of cover. They could easily hole up and wait for their backup, _Vladimir's men_, to overrun the place where they can then emerge, claim the cache of weapons, and Helga to exact her wrath on Neptune, assuming she's still alive at that point.

"Helga, take this!" Sid tossed his extra Kalashnikov to Helga, who caught it as they made their way into the winding passages between container vans.

"Thanks!" she said as slung it over her shoulder and cocked it. Finally, an automatic weapon. They then headed behind a faded blue Maersk container van. A perfect cover. They could mow down wave after wave of baddies from here, and wait for Vladimir's men to finally take control of the whole warehouse. She knew she could count on Vladimir, and would never fail her.

From behind the container van, Helga fired bursts at the men who came rushing towards them. She took down one, two, three of them, hitting them with precision, watching blood spray out of them as the bullets of the Kalashnikov tore through their bodies. She then took cover, and turned to Sid.

"Your turn now, Sid!"

Sid nodded and understood Helga's plan. They were to take turns at firing at their enemy to conserve ammo. He knew that it will be a while before Vladimir's men gets through the entrance and reach them inside, so he had to make every bullet count. After firing more than five carefully-aimed bursts, Sid took cover and turned to Lou.

"I'm done! Your turn now, big boy!"

Lou nodded and got out of his cover, firing bursts at their enemy. Empty casings flew from his Kalashnikov as he lets out carefully-aimed shots. Suddenly, as if punched by an invisible hand, he recoiled back on to the ground, holding his shoulder.

"Gyaaahh!" he screamed as he fell on to the ground

"Lou!" Helga and Sid cried out as they saw their comrade fall. Sid rushed to his side and checked Lou's shoulder. _Blood!_ Lou has been hit.

"Sid, take care of Lou! I'll hold them off!" Helga commanded. Sid tore off Lou's suit to check the extent of damage. Sid gasped upon seeing Lou's bullet wound. An ugly jagged hole was punched into his shoulder, blood gushing out from it. Sid tore strips of cloth from Lou's suit and pressed it against his wound. Lou tried to smile weakly at Sid.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asked before coughing out blood violently.

"Save your breath, dammit!" Sid angrily snapped back. "You'll live, big boy. It's nothing but a scratch. And don't you dare die on me! Or else I'll..."

"Kill me?" Lou joked, laughing weakly before violently coughing.

Helga was done reloading her Kalashnikov before she came out of her cover to fire at their enemies.

_"You'll pay for this, you sons of bitches!" _she muttered as she got out and aimed her Kalashnikov at them.

She then realized how bad their situation was. Some of Neptune's men have climbed atop the container vans, giving them the higher ground advantage. She fired at them, making them duck behind their cover. The men on the ground level fired at her, causing Helga to roll back behind the container as bullets ricocheted off the container van and whistled dangerously close to her. The container van they're hiding behind was too thick, she thought. Her Kalashnikov has no hope in punching through it. For this, she needs _serious firepower_.

She dug into her coat, and into her left waist holster, and whipped out a shiny oversized revolver. It's the Five Avengers, her Smith & Wesson Model 500 revolver.

With a quick deft move, she got out of her cover, and gripping her revolver tightly, she surveyed her targets. With adrenaline flooding her brain, everything seemed to be in slow-mo. She took an aim on her first target, and pulled the trigger.

_**PHOOOM!**_

The revolver slug easily tore through the corrugated sheet of metal that her target was hiding behind on like a hot knife through butter, and hit the man straight on the chest, sending him flying backwards from the impact of the bullet. Helga took another aim at the man hiding behind a crate, and pulled the trigger.

_**PHOOOM!**_

Same result. The slug hit her target as if there was nothing between them. She aimed at the ground level and saw a man crouching behind the door of a container van. She pulled the trigger and...

_**PHOOOM!**_

Helga smiled devilishly as she saw the slug tore through his body, sending him flying back. _They're falling like flies, _she thought. A man foolishly got out of his cover and rushed towards her in attempt to get closer.

_"Oh no you don't!"_

_**PHOOOM!**_

With two quick shots, she punched a hole the size of a quarter right in to their chests, blood gushing freely out. Something caught Helga's eye. A man climbed atop one of the container van and aimed a long tube-like weapon at her. Helga's eyes widened, realizing what that weapon was.

_"Shit!"_

"RPG! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE-!" she screamed at Sid and Lou before she was cut off...

_**WHOOOSH! KABOOOOOM!**_

...by an explosion when a RPG-7 rocket hit the container van they're hiding behind. Helga jumped away just in time when the container van flew up into pieces. The pressure wave from the explosion knocked her further than she intended to, landing hard on her belly before tumbling over. As she got up, an unearthly metallic screeching sound began to ring out above her. She looked up to see the tower of metal crates and container vans stacked on top of each other wobbling, threatening to fall unto her and crush her to death.

_"Oh fuck no! No!"_

_**KRRRRRRCK! CRASSSSHHHHH!**_

She jumped out of the way just in time, and again landed hard this time on her side, rolling on the ground. She then stood up, and turned to see a chaotic heap of tangled metal and contorted metal sheets. Dammit, Sid and Lou are on the other side of the rubble. Are they okay? Did they survive the explosion? Helga silently hoped they made it out in one piece after that RPG attack. She needed to go around this rubble to link up with Sid and Lou, and finally hold the fort down until backup arrives.

Helga looked at the Five Avengers, which she was still holding. Amazing, she had forgotten she was holding it even after the explosion and the avalanche of metal crates almost crushed her. She pushed the cylinder open. One bullet left. _Perfect, _she thought. She will be saving this last bullet for _someone, _someone deserving to have her pretty face blown off by the 50 caliber slug.

_Neptune_.

She thought she heard footsteps down the hallway around the corner. She aimed her revolver in front of her, and carefully headed to that direction. She secretly hoped that the moment she makes a turn around the corner, it will be a pair of violet eyes that will be staring down the barrel of her revolver. She held her breath as she neared the corner. And with one swift step, she quickly made the turn and aimed her revolver at her intended target.

_**CLICK! CLICK!**_

Whoever was up there must have heard her prayers. There it was, a pair of violet orbs staring directly at the barrel of her revolver. She smiled lightly upon seeing the one she's saving her last bullet for.

_Neptune_.

The muzzle of her Desert Eagle handgun was aimed at Helga as well. Neptune's blonde curls fell messily on her shoulders. A slight grin formed across Neptune's face upon seeing Helga's sapphire eyes. Blood dripped from a cut on her eyebrow when she landed hard on the ground during the explosion. An ugly bluish-gray bruise from when Neptune hit her with her handgun formed on her jaw.

Finally, they could settle everything right here, right now.

"So it finally came to this," Helga said as she aimed her Smith and Wesson Model 500 revolver at her, who stood a few feet from her.

"Yes, you can say that again," Neptune replied as she aimed her Desert Eagle handgun to the revolver-wielding blonde as well.

They both pulled back the hammer of their weapons at the same time, ready to fire a slug at each other at any slightest provocation. Their fiery sapphire and amethyst orbs locked at each other, unblinking. They stood like statues, not moving a even single muscle.

"One of us has to go down, Neptune," Helga said, grinning at her, tightening her grip on her revolver.

"For the first time, Helga, I cannot agree with you more," Neptune concurred, chuckling a bit as she gripped her handgun.

Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes seemed like hours. No one stirred. No one dared to shoot first. Like poker players pulling bluffs at each other, they would teasingly stroke the trigger of heir weapons, hoping to throw one another off-guard and plant a slug into another's body.

"Do you have the guts to do it, Pataki? Pull the trigger and kill me?" she asked, keeping her gun aimed.

Helga scoffed, "It's not the first time I pulled the trigger and shot someone point-blank."

"Just like what you did to _Arnold_?"

The painful memory of the events five years ago came flashing back again, but Helga shoved it back to the back of her mind and focused at her target.

"If I have to do it again, this time _with you_, I would be more than happy to oblige. Pity I have one bullet left to spare. Just enough to blow your brains out, that is, if you have one," Helga retorted, ending with a mocking smile.

"What a _rotten luck_, I happened to be down to my last bullet as well. Fate has some wicked sense of humor, isn't it?"

Helga smirked at her. Their fiery eyes were locked at each other, unblinking. One of them will get out of this warehouse alive. One of them will be going down. Hillwood is too small for the two of them to co-exist, Helga thought. A light smirk formed on Neptune's face as her eyes narrowed.

_**BANG! PHOOOM!**_

Two distinct gunshots rang out almost simultaneously and echoed across the warehouse above the burst of gunfire that erupted every now and then. Hoshiam, who was looking for her Mistress, turned and rushed to the direction where the gunshots came from. She made her way past the winding passageways between the stacks of metal crates and container vans, and finally made the turn at the corner. She was frozen at her place upon seeing the aftermath of the standoff.

"Mistress?" she gasped. There, standing a few feet from her, a blonde was lying dead on her belly on the ground, face turned away from her. Standing right next to her was another blonde, clutching her chest, still holding her gun. She looked at Hoshiam and smiled.

_"It is done."_


	17. Act 13: Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, the lyrics to the song "Kiss The Rain" by Billie Myers, and the song "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf to which this chapter was named after.**

**Finally, the "Girl-to-Girl Action" arc ends in this chapter. The caffeine-addict, chain-smoking, frequently friendzoned, hopelessly romantic author would like to thank Kensley for allowing him to borrow her persona, and what was originally planned as a one-chapter cameo became one of the main antagonists for this fic that everybody loves to hate (heck, even Kensley hated herself in this fic. Weird. XD). XD And BlackRob, for turning his charcoal of crappy ideas into a shining diamond concept. He could have not moved past this arc if not for his suggestions. And to all loyal reviewers, HoshiAM, Stavros, Sandra, MorganTaylor, EJ, and all others, THANK YOU! So the "War of the Blondes" ends here...**

**Act 13: Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

_A green eyed blond god came upon her, his face hovering above hers, giggling, laughing. He touched her face. It felt so warm._

_It felt so good._

_It felt so peaceful._

_The he opened his lips, his sweet voice echoed through the ethereal unearthly realm she was in right now._

_"You're beautiful..."_

_"Your eyes...sparkle like the ocean on a sunny day..."_

_"Come with me..."_

_"We shall be together..."_

_"Forever..."_

_"...and ever."_

_"Always..."_

_"Always..."_

_"Always."_

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ **

The dull light of the halogen lamp began to flood her sight. Damn too bright. It hurt her eyes so much that she has to squint a bit to ease the pain. Her body was sore all over. A splitting headache rocked her senses as she struggled to lift her head to get a better look of her surroundings. She tried to shield her eyes from the burning light, but her hands were being held back by some invisible force. The more she struggled to lift her hands to shield her eyes from the piercing light, the more it hurt.

_"Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?"_

She opened her mouth, struggled to let out a scream, but no voice came out. Instead, nausea hit her, and a flood of bile rose up from her stomach, flooding her throat, causing her to cough violently. The fluid shot painfully through her nose and mouth, and dripped down to her chin and to her shirt. She spitted out the remaining fluid from her mouth, leaving a metallic tangy aftertaste. _Blood,_ she thought as she licked her swollen, broken lips clean. As senses slowly normalized, she began to perceive her surroundings, and the dire situation she was in at the moment.

She was realized that she was bound in a chair, in a room lit by a single halogen lamp. As her eyes became accustomed to the burning light, she slowly formed the images of the wooden crates stacked on top of each other, tangled mess of coiled manilla rope, and random scraps of metal littered the floor. She must be in some sort of a warehouse. Was this the same one where their deal had gone bad, and had ended in a standoff?

The last moments of her consciousness began flooding into her head. The image of a gun muzzle staring directly at her. The moment she pulled the trigger. The deafening gunshot before she lost consciousness.

Did she get her? Did she finally kill that _blonde whore_?

Summoning what remained of her strength, she heaved her breath and let out a whimper.

_"Help...somebody..."_

Her whimper were unanswered. Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the darkness, getting closer and closer. A hulking shadow emerged from the shadows and stood before her. The shadow then turned its head to the side and called out.

"Boss, she's awake."

Then footsteps echoed once more from the darkness, this time, lighter and each step rang out with feminine grace. A womanly shadow emerged from the darkness and stood beside the hulking shadow, staring at her.

"Good morning, sunshine. How's your sleep?" she greeted her mockingly in her hoarse, wheezy voice.

She could only reply with a groan as she stared at the womanly shadow, trying to make out her features. Her vision became a bit clearer now. From her feminine outline, she can see the dull halogen light diffused through her light flaxen hair. _That blonde whore! _She did not get her after all. Dammit, she cursed herself. She felt her bonds cut through her skin as she struggled to break free from her bonds.

_"How many times do I have to shoot you bitch to kill you?!"_

"You...you're still alive...I...I've shot you..." she said, gasping for breath for her every word.

"Yes, you have shot me...and I'm obviously alive..." she replied, trying to hide her wheezing.

"But how...?"

"Two words," she raised her forefinger and middle finger. "Kevlar. Vest. You think I'm stupid enough to leave home without it, knowing that I'll be dealing with the _likes of you_?"

Of course, a Kevlar vest! How else would she survive a gunshot at such close range without a Kevlar vest? She should have known that, and should have aimed _a bit higher_ and at that _airhead_ of hers to splatter her brains out to kingdom come! She laughed a bit, and let a defeated sigh.

"Clever girl...but you should have killed me...keeping me alive is dangerous...you know," she said in a whispery voice, trying her best to smirk at her.

"I _meant_ to do just that, if it isn't for that stupid bullet that grazed your head and knocked you cold. I guess you got lucky that time," the womanly shadow chuckled, still wheezing.

The female shadow drew closer to her and locked her icy cold stare at her eyes, "But I'm afraid this is where your lucky run ends, girlfriend." She gazed back at those fiery _sapphire eyes, _and broke a bitter smile.

"It seems that you have finally defeated be at every turn. Congratulations, _Helga Pataki_."

"Thank you," she smiled back, and gave the defeated blonde a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

"So you got me here...what are you planning? _Kill me?_" Neptune smirked.

"Neptune, like I've told you before, in this game of thrones, _you either win or die. There is no middle ground,"_ Helga said sternly.

"If I let you live, and make you promise you wouldn't do anything stupid, or leave Hillwood not to return again, I know you will only bide your time until you can regain your strength and plot your vengeance. I know how dangerous you were to be left alive, and I have to admit, the outcome of our next faceoff might not turn _in my favor_."

Her survival instinct kicked in at that instant. The animal within her pushed her to scream at Helga, beg for mercy, promise to do no more harm, to leave her and Arnold alone for eternity, hell, she could have Arnold _all for herself_ for all she cared, to leave Hillwood and never return. Anything that would convince Helga to spare her skin and get out of this hellhole in one piece.

But she's more than that. She knows that outside the walls of this warehouse, the future that awaited her was bleak. She would be ruined, reduced to begging. Her Eastern European suppliers would run after her once she defaulted her debts. She will be hunted down like a rat. Even if she takes Arnold with her, he would only share her fate.

No sunshine awaits her outside these walls. She would rather accept the inevitable, and bow down to her fate like a proud warrior, than to be hunted and die like a vermin.

"A wise decision, Helga. I have to be honest, if you let me live, I will make sure that you would _regret_ the moment that you made me walk out of that door unscathed," Neptune said, with a hint of pride in her voice.

Helga was momentarily taken aback upon hearing Neptune's words. She had "disposed" many other would-be usurpers and pretenders to her throne in the West Hillwood underworld. Normally at this point, they would be screaming at her, grovelling, begging for mercy, bargaining for their lives, or more often than not, cursing her to rot eternally in hell.

But _not Neptune._

There she was, gazing at her with her steely amethyst eyes, accepted her hopeless situation and resigned to her fate, yet took everything with pride and dignity. So she wants to go down nobly. So she wants to gracefully exit the stage. So she wants to die a proud warrior's death.

_And so she will have it. _

"Very well then. I assure you, this will be quick and painless," Helga nodded, drawing out the Five Avengers.

"You indulge me, Pataki," Neptune smiled at her. Then, a thick silence began to pervade between them. Neptune then spoke up.

"The men who showed up at the warehouse...?"

"Vladimir's men," Helga said, turning her attention to her oversized revolver, pushing the cylinder open. "I figured out that the deal _might _go bad, so I had them placed in standby."

She chuckled, "Your Russian boyfriend would never fail you."

Helga smirked at her, "Puh-leease. That was five years ago."

She knew it. The night she saw Helga and Vladimir together at Chez Pariz, she wasn't just asking him for the thirty thousand dollar loan for the deposit for the weapons, but she was negotiating his assistance if the deal takes an ugly turn. So Helga had something all along she thought she didn't have: _insurance._

She watched her as she gingerly loaded bullets on her Smith and Wesson Model 500 revolver. So this was what it felt like, she thought, to wait and watch someone get ready to bring you to your death. It felt like a sheep meekly watching a butcher sharpen his cleaver. She can't help but to feel a pang of fear rise up from his gut, and send shivers to her whole body.

"Your former clients," Neptune said out of nowhere, trying to relieve some of the tension by initiating a small talk with Helga. "How did you get them to cancel their orders?"

Helga gave her a skeptical look, and sighed deeply. That sigh caused a jolt of pain to shoot through her chest. She must have cracked a rib or two when her Kevlar armor caught the bullet at such close range. Is she trying a pull off something here? Nah, it couldn't be. Most of her hired mercenaries were either killed or had already fled when they saw that the battle was going against their favor. Her assistant was in the next room, tied up and gagged. Neptune had resigned to her fate, and she's basically going to be _dead_ in a few minutes. No harm in telling the details of her plans. She might indulge the dead woman on her last minutes.

"Let's say some people would prefer give anything, whatever the cost may be, rather than to have their deepest darkest secret be made known to everyone," Helga said as she loaded the last bullet in her revolver.

Neptune chuckled shrilly, "I knew it. _Blackmailing _your clients is _so Helga Pataki_."

Helga chuckled and shook her head, pushed the cylinder back to its place, and faced Neptune.

She holstered the Five Avengers back to her waist, "You should know that I took the trouble of running a background check on you, as it is my S.O.P. whenever I do business with a new face. The weird thing is that..." She drew closer to her face. "_You don't seem to exist."_

Neptune was silent, keeping a blank stare at Helga.

"No identification papers, official documents that could confirm your identity, no nothing. I started to suspect that you're an undercover cop, but my contacts in the force confirmed that you're not."

"How you continued to exist without any identity except as a violet-eyed blonde who calls herself after a planet baffles me," Helga continued.

"Who _are you, Neptune?_ Was that _even your name_?" Helga stared at her bloodshot amethyst eyes.

Silence. Neptune was just staring at her, forcing a weak smile. Finally, a soft reply came.

_"Kensley..."_

"Kensley?" Helga repeated.

She weakly nodded.

"Well..." Helga fumbled for a moment. "That's a nice name..." Yeah, better than being named after a planet or a Roman god, she thought.

"Kensley?" Helga asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes?"

"On Chez Paris, you offered to cancel my order and refund the deposit, and for ke to stand down. That didn't make any sense. Did you do that to spite me?"

She shook her head, "Not out of spite, but _love_."

Helga gave her a confused look, "Love?"

"Yes, believe it or not, I love him, Helga. I want to spare you from the humiliating defeat because I don't want him to be sad when he sees you in a destitute situation. _To see him sad_ pains me."

"Bullshit," Helga snarled at her.

"I love him Helga...love him." She declared, tears beginning to well on her amethyst eyes.

"You lie, you bitch!" Helga hissed. "You used him to gain an upper hand against me. You know he's my weakness. I just wonder why you didn't make full use of him, since that idiot _Football Head_ seems to be head-over-heels _gaga_ over you, and you literally have him in the palm of your hands."

"Because _I love him dearly_, Helga!" she snapped back at her. "At first, I mean to use him as some sort of leverage against you...but then again..." She sobbed and sighed. "_I loved him_..."

Helga gazed at her dewy amethyst eyes. My God, she's not lying. Why would a dying woman lie to her, she thought. She really _did _love him. Poor girl. Was her love drove her to this obsession? Was it love that fueled her motivation to conquer the West Hillwood underworld and oust her from her throne?

In any case, she's no different from her. A woman who had loved, _and lost._

"Now with me out of the way, you can now claim him back. You have your prize now, Pataki: the man you love, and the throne to the West Hillwood underworld," she said with a bittersweet smile.

"I do not claim any prize from this, Kensley. The throne to West Hillwood had always been mine. I merely defended it from you. As for _him_..." she let out an audible sigh. "I doubt if he will ever be mine _again_..." Memories of his bitter rejection of her proposal in the Elysium months ago came flashing back to her.

She nodded at her weakly, hanging her head. She will die without seeing him for one last time, without feeling the warmth of her embrace, without feeling her sweet kisses and caress. Her blond angel. Her light. Her cain.

She looked up and saw Helga holding a cellphone out to her.

"What's this?"

"A last act of kindess," Helga replied. "Say your last farewell for him. But don't get any ideas, buster."

"Thanks," she weakly said, pressing her ear against the cellphone, and listened to the ringing tone.

It rang one, twice, thrice. Still no answer. Then, an answer. It was his voice. Crystal clear and soothing. Oh how she longed for his voice.

_"Hi! I'm not around to take your call, so leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Bye!"_

_**BEEP!**_

Tears began to stream from her eyes, and down to her cheeks. When she finally composed, she took a deep breath and began her message.

"Arnold dear? It's me, Neptune. Listen, I'll be gone for a while. Sorry if I didn't tell you earlier. I just need to do something...important..." she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

"Dear, I just wanted to tell you that I love you. So much. More than what you can imagine. If time comes that you won't see me again, and you'll miss me, always remember this..." She tried her best not to sob at this point. "Whenever you need me, whenever I'm gone too long, if your lips feel lonely and thirsty, keep in mind that we're under the same sky. If the night feels empty for you, and morning feels too far away and you can't wait for the dawn, Arnold, go outside and _kiss the rain, _like we always do..."

She sighed and swallowed another lump forming in her throat, "Arnold, I will always be with you. Remember what Lyra Silvertongue said in _Amber Spyglass? _If we die, our atoms shall join the universe, and yours and mine shall form an inseparable union. There, we shall be together forever. I love you so much, Arnold. So long, and good night..."

And her words were then drowned by her sobs. Helga ended the call before any of her sobs gets recorded by his voicemail. She pocketed her cellphone, and drew out the Five Avengers from her waist holster.

"You _really loved_ him, Kensley?"

"_Who wouldn't_?" she smiled bitterly at her. Helga nodded knowingly.

"Is it time?" she asked, looking at the gleaming barrel of the revolver. Helga nodded as she aimed her revolver right to her forehead, the muzzle an inch away from her.

"Take care of him...for me..." she whispered, looking straight to the barrel of the revolver, and fixed her gaze at Helga's sapphire orbs. Her blue eyes were now devoid of all emotions. No sadness. No joy. No anger. Just a plain, blank gaze.

"I will," Helga softly replied.

_**CLICK!**_

"Any last words, Kensley?" Helga asked as she placed her forefinger on the trigger. A noble warrior deserves her last words to be heard, she thought.

She was silent. Then, a faint smile escaped her swollen lips as she looked straight into Helga's eyes.

_"Non, je ne regrette rien."_

Helga nodded a bit and replied in perfect French, _"Je ne regrette rien non plus, mon ami."_

_"Adieu, Kensley..."_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_**PHOOOOOOM!**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

_**...**_

A gunshot rang out and echoed back and forth the warehouse. Then silence.

Helga stood motionless for minutes, her revolver still pointed at her lifeless body. She gazed at her as smoke fizzled out from the muzzle of the Five Avengers. Her lifeless amethyst eyes still stared blankly at her, pupils dilated. The aftermath would make anybody retch, but not Helga Pataki. She looked at her like a victorious gladiator surveying her slain foe. Kensley's head hung limp back, blood gushing forth freely through the gaping jagged hole on her forehead. Almost quarter of her skull had been blown off, her brain matter painted on the chair to which she was bound. And Kensley still was still staring at her.

_"Dammit, stop staring at me, bitch!"_

She then holstered her revolver, and placed her palm across her face. Helga then forced her eyelids shut, putting her in an eternal state of repose. How peaceful she looked! If not for gaping bullet hole and half-smashed skull, one would think that she just fell asleep on her chair.

Her name was Kensley, and she will be Kensley forever.

Helga bent down, and gave her a sisterly kiss on her cheek.

_"Good night, girlfriend. Sweet dreams."_

Helga averted her gaze away from the bloody corpse that used to be Kensley. She let out a deep sigh, her broken rib filled her chest with a stabbing jolt of pain. She was the victor in this war. She defended her throne once more. She should feel elated, happy at least, after this victory. But why couldn't she bring herself to enjoy or savor this moment of triumph?

This wasn't a sweet victory like the ones she had before. This one _left a bad aftertaste in the mouth._

"Sid," she called out.

"Yes, Helga?" he replied, emerging from the shadows where he watched the whole proceedings.

"Take care of the body. Dispose of her...the usual way," she said in a flat tone.

"Yes Helga. The cement mixer is waiting outside."

Helga nodded, and let out another sigh. Sid gazed at her, and thought he saw something glistened from her eyes down to her cheek. _Tears?_ Is Helga shedding a tear for her fallen blonde foe? No, it can't be. The Blonde Devil shows no remorse, he thought.

Sid motioned two other men who were in the shadows. Two stocky men emerged and untied her corpse from the chair. They then placed her on a makeshift stretcher, and carried her body out of the room, where they will lay her in a wooden box before pouring quick-drying cement all over her. After a few hours, she will be laid in her final resting place, which will be at the bottom of the lake.

Helga ran her hand across her hair. Kensley deserved more than being encased in a block of cement and sinking to the cold and dark lake bottom. She wished she could give her a proper burial in a forgotten corner in the Hillwood Cemetery. She was a worthy foe who accepted her fate wholeheartedly, something that she did not see with Kensley's predecessors. A proud fallen warrior deserves a warrior's burial. But tonight's gunfight had already attracted much attention, and transporting her body to give her a proper burial would add to the list of things she needs to settle in the days after.

Her assistant was still in the other room. No doubt she had heard the gunshot. She needs to be taken care of as well. No loose ends must be left.

She took out the Five Avengers and gazed gloomily at it. She shook her head. No. She had enough bloodshed for tonight. She'll take care of her some other day. That would all be for tonight.

She holstered back her revolver and headed for the door. She paused before making her way out of the room, and gazed back on the bloodied chair where Kensley was sitting few minutes ago.

"_I grew strangely fond of you, and I definitely felt sad after killing you. Damn you, bitch,_" she thought to herself, letting a bittersweet smile escape from her lips before leaving the room.

**A/N: This is the most difficult chapter to write, with all honestly. Call me a big pussy, but I teared up after writing Neptune's death scene. Seriously. To Kensley aka Nep2uune, sorry if I have to kill you off, babe. As promised, it will be a dramatic death though. *gives Kensley a hug***

***Translation for Kensley's last words: "No, I do not regret anything". **

**Helga's reply: "I do not regret anything either, my friend."**

**Reviews, please! :')**


	18. Act 14: Isolated

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the song "Isolated" by Chiasm to which this chapter is named after.**

**A/N: With the "Girl-to-Girl Action" arc finished, we shall move on to the new arc which I will dub as "Man-to-Man Backdoor Action". The events in this arc took place at the same time with the events from the G2G arc.**

**Act 14: Isolated**

"Lila, we need you for this. Do you understand what you're supposed to do?"

"Yes," the redhead nodded.

"Are you ready for this, Lila? If we pull this one off, we owe you bigtime, _Foxy Leona_."

"I'm ever so certain that I am ready for this. Don't you boys mention it. I'm ever so happy to help you guys with this."

"Thanks, Lila. Stay frosty. We're here. It's showtime."

She nodded. The car stopped in front of the Wellington-Lloyd mansion. She got out of the car and stepped into the foyer of the mansion. The butler greeted her and politely asked for the invitation. She gladly obliged, taking out the elegant card from her purse, and handed it over to him. The butler bowed and opened the door for her. She then made her way into the grand mansion.

And there she was, standing before the grandeur of Rhonda's mansion. She was fortunate enough to be invited in one of the rich heiress' exclusive parties. Well, _someone_ had to move a few strings in order to get her invited to the party. For a moment, she stood in admiration on the scale of the party she was throwing. A female DJ in a lacy gothic dress was on the small elevated stage, spinning her latest trance and techno creations for guests. Some of the guests were dancing to hypnotic beat of the gothic techno music, their dilated pupils mesmerized to the the strobe light and laser light effect. Waitresses in gothic lolita maid costume buzzed back and forth amid the crowd of guests, serving drinks to anyone.

**(A/N: If it would help get the feel and mood of this chapter, try looking up "Isolated" by Chiasm at Youtube and play it while going through this chapter.)**

"Cocktails, ma'am?" one of the waitresses offered, handing out a glass to her. She was a young Asian teenager, wearing a thick makeup and dark azure eyeshadows. She reminded Lila of Hanako, who was now at the Elysium, assigned by Helga to manage the club while she and Sid were gone on an "official business". If she had brought Hanako with her, she might have squealed with childlike glee upon seeing these gothic lolita maids, screaming, "_Kawaii desu! Kawaiiiii_!"

But she was not here to party. She's here because _someone_ had asked a special favor from her. She was to use her charm as the sultry _Foxy Leona_ in playing a part in that _someone's _grand scheme. Like a well-rehearsed actress, she was waiting for her cue to enter the stage where she will play her part. She felt a wave of shiver climb up her spine, and spread throughout her body. Fear. She's getting cold feet. She took a glassful of cocktail from the waitress' tray, and downed its contents in a single gulp.

Liquid courage. Exactly just what she needed.

She sat on a tall bar stool near the mobile bar, giving her a vantage point over the mass of sweaty bodies grinding against each other. Glow sticks were given to the guests, which they wore around their wrists, arms, necks, and heads. Some were twirling it around to the beat of the techno music being played, fascinated and mesmerized by the colors flashing before their eyes.

The decadence of Rhonda's rave parties, Lila thought. All these guests must be doped up with Ecstacy, _Curly's E_. It's no secret that Thaddeus Gammelthorpe's wealth was built on his insane knowledge with pharmacology, which he used to start his drug empire. He was using his laundromat and dry cleaning chain as a front for his "real business". He was known by his clients as the "street pharmacist", or "the Chemical Brother". But by his enemies who both feared and envied him, he was "Mad Curly".

Who would not _envy_ him? He bagged the sole heiress to the Wellington-Lloyd fortune. Lila sometimes thought that Curly had concocted a drug so powerful that it made the _ever so_ fashionable and chic Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd go madly fall in love with him. Or maybe Curly got her hooked up on the drugs he's selling, and threatened to cut off her supply if she ever broke up with him. Not only he has a lovely lady on his side, but his profits from his booming drug business has enabled him to stand on equal footing with the Wellington-Lloyds and maintain Rhonda's high maintenance lifestyle. Who would have thought that this mentally unstable pharmacology student who had a basement laboratory where concocted synthetic copies of his prescription drugs would later become one of Hillwood's feared underworld figure? His basement laboratory soon became an underground assembly line for his drug empire.

Who would not _fear_ him? Lila heard rumors on how Curly dealt with his rivals and anyone who dared cross him. There was one story on how he humiliated a notorious gang leader after their drug deal went bad. As the rumor goes, Curly forced the fallen street gang leader, at gunpoint, to perform oral sex _on him_ in front of the gang leader's girlfriend and his own men. Sick, totally sick, Lila thought when she first heard the story. But that was nothing compared to the story on how he dealt with a street drug dealer who made a mistake of selling his wares on Curly's "turf". Curly took his men and raided the drug dealer's house, and caught him in bed with his girlfriend who was a stripper in one of Curly's clubs. He then ordered his men to take turns in raping her, "paying" her with a one-dollar bill, all provided by Curly, while he forced him to watch them rape his girlfriend with a gun pressed against his head. Now that was _ever so depraved. _Or how about the rumor that Curly and his men went drinking on one of the seedy clubs in West Hillwood, and a tall brunette waitress who resembled Rhonda caught her attention. After handing a hundred-dollar bill to the manager, he then grabbed her, and mounted her right on the table. When he was done, he angrily demanded for "change for his hundred, coz the whore wasn't worth hundred-dollar lay", to which the poor manager fearfully obliged.

But those were just rumors. Rumors tend to be exaggerated, and blown out of proportions. Even so, Curly's notoriety must had lent a hand in the spread of those rumors.

How could Rhonda bear, let alone love, such a twisted freak like Curly, makes Lila wonder. Love moves in mysterious, _twisted_ ways, Lila mused.

Lila saw a black car pulled over the driveway in front of the mansion's foyer through the wide windows. A black Mercedes-Benz CL63. Now this was Lila's cue. She fixed her gaze on the car intently.

A tall, stocky white mail in a suit got out of the driver's seat, while a lanky white guy with a messy brunette hair got out of the shotgun seat. The stocky while man the went to the passenger door and held it open. A tall light-skinned with a buzz cut hair African-American man in an expensive smoky gray suit got out of the car. _That's him_, Lila thought.

He looked around the mansion, and took off his RayBan shades. With his entourage in tow, he made his way into the mansion. As they made their way into the mansion and across the dance floor, Lila recognized who the African-American man was. She took another glassfull of cocktail and downed its contents quickly.

_**-Earlier that day-**_

"Here he is, Lila," he said, holding out a photograph of an African-American male getting out a pawnshop. "He's Black Rob. He runs a pawnshop at Greensburg, but it only serves as a front for his illegal and, I should say, _barely_ legal activities..."

"Like what?" Lila asked.

"He started off fencing stolen goods from small-time crooks and burglars. Soon, he was dealing smuggled electronics, and then soon got into loan sharking business. Now, he's planning on getting his hands on drug dealing. That's why he's going out to meet Thaddeus Gammelthorpe to strike up a deal with him..."

"Thaddeus Gammelthorpe?" she interrupted.

"It's Curly. You know, that crazy kid back in PS 118. That's what he calls himself today," the other guy behind him explained.

"Yes, you probably know that he is quite big now in the Hillwood underworld," he continued. Lila shuddered, remembering the rumors surrounding Curly's notoriety. "But he is not who we're after. It's _him_, Black Rob."

Lila nodded.

"You are vital to this mission, Lila. You need to get close to him and draw him away from his men and others, then that's the time we could step in and take him out."

"T-_take him out_?" Lila stammered. "Are you gonna kill him?"

"No, silly," the other man replied. "We need him alive. We're just gonna knock him out cold, and spirit him away from the Wellington-Lloyd mansion."

"Wellington-Lloyd, as in Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd?" she asked dumbly.

"Yes," he replied. "She's throwing a rave party at their family mansion. She's taking advantage of her parents' absence. It may seem like a another wild party she's known for hosting for, but in fact this is just a front for Gammelthorpe's meeting with his dealers and clients."

"Poor Rhonda," she said plaintively. "I'm ever so sure that Curly is just using her."

"The thought saddens me as well," he concurred. "Then again, that's none of our concern. I pulled some strings to get you invited _not only_ to the party, but to the "VIP circle" as well to get you as close as possible to Black Rob."

"VIP circle?"

"It's like a _party within a party. _'Partiception', as I like to call it," the other man answered.

Lila threw a puzzled look at him, obviously not getting the "Inception" reference.

"Well, anyway," he said, picking up where he left off. "The drawing room of the mansion had been cordoned off to other guests except for those who are in the list. We managed to get you into the list, and you will go into the VIP circle as _Foxy Leona_."

Her eyes widened in amazement.

"Yes, as Foxy Leona. Your stage persona, Lila," he continued. "Gammelthorpe is going to entertain the VIPs in that circle, and intelligence reveals that he will be bringing girls coming from his own club, and you will be the cherry on top of the ice cream."

"Keep in mind that this is _Gammelthorpe's party. _Expect lots of alcohol, and of course, _drugs,_" he warned her.

"I'm ever sure I can handle myself," she replied with a smile. "A little E won't take me out of my senses."

_"Not Curly's E,"_ he said. "It's twice as potent as a regular one. Do not pop in any E, or get yourself wasted. Again, _you_ are vital to this mission."

"I'm ever so sure I'll get the job done," she said assuredly.

"Good," the other man nodded. "Coz we spent a good two weeks staking out this guy, and gathering as much dirt on him. And this is the only chance we'll get to get him."

"Here is his car," he handed a picture of a black Mercedes-Benz CL63. "Take a good look at it. Once you see that car pull by the curb, that's your cue to get ready."

Lila recognized the Mercedes-Benz symbol on the car's front, "That looks expensive."

"Too expensive for him, if you'll ask me," the other man said. "Black Rob likes living big. He thinks too much of himself. His small successes he had in the underworld got into his head, and thinks he's equal with Big Gino, and even with Helga Pataki. He loves showing off, and living beyond his means. If you make him think that he can bag Foxy Leona tonight, then you can use that to your advantage."

"He's right," he nodded in agreement. "Here are the pictures of his 'entourage'. Take a good look at each and one of them. Black Rob might show up in the party with either one of them in tow."

He handed her a set of photographs. She then took the time to gaze at each photograph. The first one was stocky white male.

"That's Torvald Watson, Black Rob's main muscle. You may recognize him, as the two of you went to the same school back in elementary."

"Yes. He used to be a big bully back then," Lila said.

"Right," he nodded, and then continued. "He's big, he's ruthless, and he's loyal to Black Rob. He will not hesitate to manhandle you, or even _kill you_ if he see you as a threat to Rob. The good news is that he is quite dull and dim-witted, and you can easily trick him. Get him out of the way, and you're all home free to Black Rob."

She nodded as she flipped to the next set of photographs. This time, it was a redhead lady who appeared to have applied too much makeup on her face. The way she dressed was too..._skanky_, even for Lila.

"Next is Ruth McDougal. You probably know her. She had a short stint at the Elysium before she left..."

"_Got fired_, actually," Lila interrupted. "Helga suspected her of filching liquors, and fired her right away when she was caught red-handed."

"I see," he nodded upon hearing that. "Well anyway, she works as his secretary slash assistant slash mistress. Now, it's gonna be tough if Rob shows up with her at the party. She will _never_ leave Rob's side, let alone allow other women near him. In that case, you got to take _"drastic"_ measures to take her out of the picture."

"Drastic measures? Like what?" Lila asked.

"Pop some E on her drinks," the other man replied. "Or drop a Valium tab on it. I don't care, just be creative . As long as you knock her cold and get yourself close to Black Rob."

"Okay," Lila answered half-heartedly. "I'll try..."

"Moving on," he said, pointing to the next set of pictures. This time, it was a lanky white male with a messy black hair. "Justin Redford, Rob's 'drug connoisseur'. You might know him as "Chocolate Boy" back in PS 118."

"That's him now?!" Lila's eyes widened.

"Yes, he moved from one addiction to another. Started with weed, then moved to coke, then to meth, and now to harder stuff. He can tell the purity and quality of any substance in a single hit. Most likely, he's gonna tag along with Rob tonight. He needs him to tell if Curly's stuff is good enough to sell in his turf."

"If you're planning to knock him out with drugs in case he shows up with Black Rob, you will be needing more than a single pop. This guy is a monster. Years of addiction had built his tolerance to levels that would kill a normal human with overdose. Try to be creative with this guy," the other man advised to her.

"You're making everything sound ever so hard for me," Lila said, worried.

"Don't worry, we're right behind you, Lila. We're all in this together," he said, holding her hand across the table. "There are two other ones in his 'entourage', but I doubt they would be with him at the party. They are the ones you need to watch out for, Lila."

"Remember Lila, ten minutes alone with Black Rob. Just _ten minutes_. That's all we need from you, and we'll be all fine," the other man man added. "Do everything you can to get him alone. Heck, you're _Foxy Leona_. This is gonna be a piece off cake for you."

"Mhmm," she nodded.

"If everything goes haywire, or something goes wrong, use this," he handed a silver brooch with a small emerald stud on the middle to her. "It's a radio transmitter. Press the emerald, and cavalry will be on the way."

"And if shit hits the fan _really hard_, you better have one of these," the other man put a subcompact Glock 36 on the table. "Ever used one of these?"

Lila shook her head.

The other man picked up the gun and held it out to her, " This is the safety," he pointed at the small switch on the side of the gun. "Flick it up, and it's good to go. Point the muzzle to your target, hold your wrist with your other hand. You got six shots, so don't fire like crazy. Make every shot count."

"Keep this somewhere safe. Probably in your purse. Or inside your bra..." the other man got interrupted when he elbowed his side.

"What? I'm just sayin'," the other man said, shrugging.

"Lila, that's only what we ask of you. Just ten minutes _alone_ with Rob. _Ten minutes_, Lila..."

_**-Present-**_

_"Ten minutes..." _

His words echoed inside her head as he watched Black Rob and his entourage made their way into the mansion, and into the hallway leading to the drawing room. A pang of fear began to hit her, and consumed her. She regretted agreeing to take part of this mission. She's not into this "secret agent" or "elaborate heist" stuff.

Then again, it's too late to turn back. They were counting on her.

She downed the third glass of cocktail, and felt the buzz rise up to her head. The fear in her began to dull and eventually subsided. This was her cue. _It's showtime._

She then got up and made her way on to the hallway leading to the drawing room. On the door, there were two guards posted. She smiled at them as they stopped her right in front of the door.

"Invitation, ma'am?" one of the guards gruffly asked.

"Oh, I gave it to the butler at the foyer," Lila replied, in the sweetest tone she could muster.

"The _other invitation_, ma'am," he asked back.

"Oh, wait," Lila said, digging inside her purse, fishing out a black card. She handed it over to the guard. The guard then ran it through an ultraviolet scanner, where a hidden image shone on the card. The guard nodded, and stamped the card before handing it back to Lila.

"Foxy Leona?"

Lila nodded.

"You may now pass," the guard said as he pushed the door open.

"Thanks," Lila said as she winked at the guard before heading into the drawing room.

Inside, Lila scanned the drawing room that was now converted into a gothic/tencho/BDSM-themed club. Waitresses in leather bikinis served drinks and funny-looking multi-colored tablets to the select guests in the "VIP circle". _Curly's "candies"_, Lila thought. She scanned the room, looking for her target. Her gaze was fixed on the middle of the room.

There he was, talking to Curly. He was animatedly trying to tell something to him. Curly seems to be half-interested, nodding every now and then. Where's his entourage? In a corner, Justin and Torvald were busy indulging themselves with the pleasures that Curly's private party has to offer. They were on leather couches with Curly's girls entertaining them. Torvald was busy making out with the two waitresses, one sitted on his lap, while the other one smothering his body with her kisses. Justin, who seems to be more interested with the multi-colored tablets the hot Latina waitress was feeding him _on her boobs, _wolfed down on the tablets as the waitress moaned as she held his head against her plump breasts.

Perfect, Lila thought. This made her job easier. All she needed to do is wait for Black Rob to finish his discussion with Curly, and then she can make her move.

After a few more minutes, Curly and Rob stood up, shook hands, and slapped each other's back. Time to make her move. She took a deep breath and headed towards Black Rob.

"Lila? Lila Sawyer?"

She turned to see who called her. She saw a tall brunette lady with a chocolate milk brown eyes, dressed in a leather dominatrix costume. Her eyes widened a bit as she recognized who the brunette lady was.

"Lila, goodness. It's you! What are you doing here?" the brunette lady asked.

Lila gulped hard. Dammit, she can't go on with this mission _recognized_. She was supposed to be _Foxy Leona_, but this brunette blew her cover up wide open.

She had no choice but to bite the bullet, and go on with the show. She smiled back, and greeted back in a sweetest tone she could muster.

"Oh hi, Rhonda. What a pleasant surprise..."


	19. Act 15: Blood

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the song "Blood" by In This Moment to which this chapter is named after. **

**To all my loyal readers and reviewers, thank you. ^^, I do not wish to take any credit for this chapter. All credits go to BlackRob, who came up with the idea for this chapter. Thanks bro! And thanks to the "fanfic writer formerly known as MorganTaylorM3", or MorTay3, for suggesting a more appropriate tune for this chapter. Thanks, girl!**

**This chapter is, I say, special in many ways. It went longer than originally planned after I got carried away writing the middle and final parts. It got ****dirtier and darker****than originally planned as well. Well, dirty in the sense that some might find some scenes distasteful, but I tried my best to keep some scenes classy and less smutty than it seems. After I finished this chapter, I thought about "sanitizing" this chapter and cleaning up the "dirty parts", and making some scenes less dark, but I decided against it. I thought, "Hey, this is Hillwood Noir! This is ****supposed**** to be dark and dirty!" **

**So I present to you the un-edited, un-sanitized Chapter 19. R&R, people. ^^,**

**Act 15: Blood**

"Oh hi, Rhonda," Lila greeted awkwardly at the brunette dominatrix. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"A pleasant surprise indeed. What are you doing here?"

"Curly-, I mean, Thaddeus invited me over to this party," she replied, trying her best to hide her nervousness behind her sweet smile.

"Really now?" Rhonda raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing the redhead from head to toe. Lila was wearing a dark green latex corset top with a matching dark green latex mini skirt, lacy black strap-on stockings, and five-inch stiletto pumps. Dark moss green eyeshadows and blood red lipstick completed her industrial gothic getup for tonight.

"Yes, Rhonda. I was ever so sure I was invited as _Foxy Leona," _she said, beaming at her, checking her dominatrix suit. Dark eyeshadows, magenta lipstick, black leather corset, strap-on stockings, high-cut stiletto-heeled boots, and a horse whip. Not bad, Lila thought.

"Foxy Leona? You are _Foxy Leona?_"

"You never knew? I'm ever so sure you saw me perform the last time you went with Thaddeus to the Elysium."

"Oh yeah. I wasn't really watching back then," Rhonda forced a smile.

_"Coz I thought you were just some another random skank Pataki hired as a sorry excuse for a stripper back then_," Rhonda was tempted say out loud, but just plastered a smile across her face.

"It's okay, Rhonda," Lila replied.

_"No, you're just ever so busy flirting with Gerald back then. And I bet Curly beat your slutty ass ever so hard back then that you lost your memory of that night," _Lila was tempted to answer back.

"C'mere, Lila, darling. It's been ages since I last saw you," Rhonda drew near to her and gave her air kisses.

"Same here, Rhonda. I always see you in the news and magazines. But it's been a while since I saw you personally."

"I'm so sure we have lots of catching up to do," Rhonda said in her faked sweet voice.

"I'm ever so sure you have lots of stories to tell," Lila replied in the same faked sweetness.

"Come. Thaddeus should see you," Rhonda said, walking to the circle of leather couches in the middle of the drawing room. Lila followed her.

Thaddeus was reclined on his couch, in the middle of a discussion with Black Rob. Rhonda strutted around his couch, and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a peck on his cheek.

"Darling, I believe you invited _Foxy Leona_ to this function?" Rhonda said near his ear in a sultry voice.

"I did, Darling," he replied in his unusual husky voice. Lila was surprised to hear how different Curly, or Thaddeus, sounded like now. He no longer sounded like a manic school boy that held the principal's office under siege with dodgeballs, or regularly set animals free from the zoo (painting all of them with tiger stripes in one occasion) that she used to know. Lila could still remember that time back in high school when he wrote "FIGHT THE POWER" on the football field by pouring liquid fertilizer on the grass. It was a series harmless pranks and stunts (like when he painted the lockers lipstick red, or when set a herd of squirrels painted pink free on the hallways during Valentine's day to woo Rhonda back then, which failed epicly, though Lila thought it as ever so sweet.) Soon, it became vindicative and harmful (like when he added hydrochloric acid on the water tank feeding the showers in the school gym to get back on the jocks who bullied him. This resulted to the whole basketball team being hospitalized for skin irritation.). The last straw was when the filled the cathode-ray tube monitor in the principal's office with gasoline, which blew up on the poor old man's face when he started his computer that morning.

"_Thus always to the tyrants!" _he shouted as the police led him into the car that awaited him. Some said he was admitted to a mental ward after that. Some said he was sent to juvie. Whatever happened to Curly after, Lila didn't know for sure. That was the last time she saw him.

The next thing she knew, he is now a feared underworld figure. With no less than Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd as his consort. He was no longer the crazed boy Lila used to know, but a cold, calculating mastermind. He gazed at her with his cold midnight black

steely eyes. He was still wearing glasses, but he traded those geeky thick-framed ones for expensive-looking rimless ones. His black hair were now neatly slicked up. He was wearing a black clerical collar shirt, crisp well-pressed slacks, and finest Italian leather shoes.

"Thank you for gracing this humble party with your presence, _Foxy Leona_," he greeted her as he caressed Rhonda who was snuggled close to him.

"I'm ever so honored that you invited me, Mr. Gammelthorpe, sir," she tried her best to curtsy and smile sweetly at him. Everything in this party was anything _but _humble. From the scale of the party going on outside, either Rhonda or Thaddeus, or _both_ of them must have spent a fortune with the preparations. The drinks seems to be bottomless, as it was being served freely to those who weren't drunk or wasted enough yet. The gothic female DJ continued spinning hypnotic techno music for the guests. Even here in the exclusive VIP circle, the couple must have spared no dime to make sure their invited guests would get the hospitality they deserved. They have their own female DJ spinning their own techno-gothic-house music. Tha traditional chandeliers of the drawing room had been replaced with laserlights and dazzling neon lighting effects. On the couches around the drawing room, other guests, which Lila assumed to be either Curly's clients, underbosses, and their men, were reclined on their own couches and being "entertained" by Curly's girls. She swore she even saw a girl straddling one of the guests on his crotch, moaning, her face lost in ecstacy, while another girl was busy licking his nipples and later planted her lips into his, locking each other in deep, sensual kiss.

**(A/N: As with the previous chapter, try playing or watching the music video "Blood" by In This Moment to get a fell and mood of this scene.)**

Pleasures abound, and debauchery unbridled. Indulge to you heart's content. This was the brand of the parties that Thaddeus Gammelthorpe usually hosts. At Rhonda's expense, of course.

"Thaddeus. Just call me Thaddeus. _Thad_, if you may," he smirked lightly at her.

"Darling, don't you know Foxy Leona was our classmate back in PS 118? It's _Lila Sawyer_," Rhonda chimed in.

Thaddeus looked up and shot her a glare, "Of course, I knew that, you _dumbass_!" he snarled at her.

_**THWAAP!**_

With a quick stroke, Curly gave Rhonda a quick slap on her cheek. It wasn't hard, but enough to cause her to whimper and reel back in pain. She held her cheek as she cowered back from him.

Suddenly, his face softened and beckoned her to come closer. Rhonda obeyed like a loyal puppy and snuggled close to him. He then lovingly caressed her sore cheek.

"I'm so sorry darling," he cooed at her soothingly. "It's just that your 'Thaddy Bear' is a bit cranky today. Can mommy give 'Thaddy Bear' his 'good stuff'? Can she? Can she, huh?"

Lila was simply dumbfounded at the sight. How can Rhonda, a rich, smart, and sophisticated girl she used to know live with this..._nutjob? _How can she come snuggling back to him after he verbally and physically abused her? Maybe her theory about Curly concocting a potent love drug, or hooking up Rhonda on drugs to keep him at his side was true after all.

"Sure darling," Rhonda cooed back. From inside her corset, she took out a black tablet, and placed it on her tongue. She then held Curly's, and planted her lips unto his, giving him a deep, torrid kiss.

Thaddeus, as if caught in deep ecstacy, started moaning with Rhonda. After their lips parted, he still had his eyes close, his lips moving, moaning incoherently, as if in trance.

"Oh yeah...that's it...that's the stuff...come to me, baby..." he moaned. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. He appeared calmer now and more composed. He then smiled at Lila, while caressing Rhonda who was still snuggled close to him.

"I'm sorry about that, Lila. I just get cranky whenever I miss my 'fix'," he said. "Good thing I got my darling Rhonda here to make each _'fix'_ worthwhile."

"Always here for you, darling," Rhonda purred, enjoying Thaddeus' caresses.

"Oh, that's nothing. It's ever so understandable. We all get cranky sometimes, right?" Lila tried her best to beam at him.

Thaddeus nodded, "Foxy Leona, I would like you to meet my newest business associate, Black Rob."

Lila turned to Rob, "Pleased to meet you, Black Rob," she smiled sweetly at him.

He reached out, took her hand, and gave it a kiss, "The pleasure is all mine, _Foxy Leona. _My oh my, you certainly look _lovelier_ up close, my lady," he said in a seductive tone.

"You flatter me, Mr. Rob," Lila replied, giggling a bit.

"Rob, just call me Rob," he smiled. "I noticed that your hair looks _flame red _up close. I thought it was just a trick of the light. Do you dye your hair, Foxy Leona?"

"Leona, just call me _Leona_," she smiled back. "No, Rob. I was born redhead. I'm ever so certain that my hair is more of copper red than flame red."

"Whatever shade of red it is," Rob them drew closer to her, and whispered to her ear. "You know, I have a _thing_ for redheads."

A cold shiver ran through Lila's spine. Something in her brain suddenly kicked in.

_"Skank mode activated."_

"I heard _things_ about black men," she whispered back, matching his seductive tone. "_Huge things_. I wonder if they're true."

"Why don't we find out later?" he whispered back before drawing away from her, giving her a wink. She smiled back impishly at him.

_"You're making this too easy for me,"_ she thought.

Sensing that the two were getting too cozy with each other, Thaddeus cleared his throat loudly, getting the attention of the two.

"Tell me, Lila," Thaddeus asked, eyeing the redhead. "Did you come here on your own accord, or did _she_ force you to go here?"

"I'm ever so certain I came here on my own, Thaddeus," she replied. "Helga is currently away on official business."

"I thought so," he nodded knowingly. "I thought I'm gonna owe the _Devil_ again for your presence. We're not yet even after some NITWIT-" he hollered the last word at Rhonda's general direction. She shrank back for a moment, frightened by his sudden outburst. "-made a scene at her club more than a few months ago for some dumb reason."

Poor Rhonda, Lila thought, as she watched her cower and snuggle ever closer to Thaddeus, as if asking forgiveness or trying to soothe his rage. Is she enjoying all of these? Is her love was that much that she was blind to the fact that Curly treated her like dirt?

Perhaps this what makes her happy. To be treated like dirt. Rhonda, the masochist, Lila mused.

He then turned to Black Rob, "Rob, my man, your turf shall our test market. Our _guinea pig_. If this turns out well, I assure you, Rob, you will be the chief distributor my new stuff."

"Oh Thad, my man, you give me too much credit. I am honored. I know I don't deserve it," he said, trying to sound as humble as possible. Thaddeus knows false modesty when he sees one, and that's what he _hated most_. He merely smirked at him.

"No need to be modest, Rob. I know your reputation at Greensburg. A fence, con-man, loan-shark, hell, you even run a protection racket. You're a jack of all trades, but you are a _master of none. _One must focus on something to succeed. Pataki has the guns. Escobar has the cocaine. The Triad and Yakuza has...well, I don't give a _rat's ass_ about them. But you get my drift. I am giving you a chance to excel on something, Rob."

"I guess you can say that I am a jack of all trades, Gammelthorpe, but a _master of none_?" he sneered at Thaddeus. "A minute ago, I thought you give me much credit, but now, it seems that you give me _less than_ what I deserve. With all due respect, Gammelthorpe, but you _underestimate_ me, it seems."

"Oh do I?" Thaddeus asked condescendingly, smirking at him. "Enlighten me then, Black Rob."

"I do not wish to be just a mere druglord, but to excel a everything, Gammelthorpe," Black Rob promptly replied. "Look at Big Gino. He has everything in his turf. Drugs, whores, guns, protection racket, every illegal and _barely legal stuff_ that you can name. And yet he manages to be one of the biggest figures in the West Hillwood underworld. If he can manage, _why can't I_?"

"Big Gino is the fourth generation leader of their family. Their family had long established their protection racket, night clubs, casinos, and every illegal and barely legal shit you could imagine even _before_ you and I were born. Big Gino merely inherited it and, I should say, made a _big mess_ of it," Thaddeus replied.

"My point is, you _need _to focus on a single field, or in your case, merchandise, in order to succeed. You need to build up reputation to serve as a foundation for your success," Thaddeus continued.

Rob quickly countered, "Reputation? I believe I had established one in Greensburg-"

"Not enough, Black Rob," Thaddeus interrupted. "That won't win you a significant place in the underworld. With this-" He picked a small black diamond-shaped tablet from his pocket, and held it out to Rob.

"With this, you may be lucky enough to win a place in the underworld."

Black Rob eyed the tablet carefully. It looks like a normal pill, hell, it could just a candy that Thaddeus painted black. He gave him an incredulous look.

"How will that suppose to win me a place among the underworld big-shots?"

"This, my friend, is the Black Sky. It's basically like ecstacy, but twice as potent. It does not form any physiological dependency. Everything is just psychological."

Black Rob gave him a confused gaze.

Thaddeus rolled his eyes and sighed, "It means that this baby won't fuck up with your body the way crack does. If you ever got hooked on this shit, it's all in your head, and you could easily kick it out of your system. So this baby is _technically legal_. No need about keeping this shit hidden."

"This is the future of Hillwood's drug trade. This will be your key to victory," he then tossed the black pill, which Rob caught midair.

"I see," Rob nodded as he looked at it on his palm. "And of course, with your help?"

"You are under my protection, Black Rob," Thaddeus said, taking out a cigar from his pocket, and lit it up. "Those who dare oppose you will answer to Thaddeus Gammelthorpe! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he laughed.

"I appreciate the gesture, and I say I am deeply honored for me to launch the-" he paused, trying to recall the name of the black pill.

"Black Sky," Thaddeus said impatiently.

"Right. I don't mean to be rude, or uppity, but what do you hope to _gain from this_?"

Thaddeus gave him an annoyed look. Black Rob took a hint and cleared his throat.

"I mean, c'mon, Thad. We're both businessmen here. Let's be real. We're no UNICEF nor saints here. If gaining a place in the underworld is _what awaits me_, then _what is in it for you_?"

Thaddeus laughed a bit before taking a puff from his cigar, "I guess there's no rooom for niceties between two merchants, eh? Well, I'll be frank then. I want you to be my main bannerman."

Rob gave him both an incredulous and confused, "A bannerman?"

"My main _underboss_," Thaddeus explained. "With your passion and aggressive tactics, it would be just a matter of time before Black Sky would dominate the Hillwood drug market. Hell, it would give Escobar a run for his money."

"You will carry my banner into the heart of East Hillwood. Yes, Black Sky will be so big, we can take on the combined strength of the Yakuza and Triad. And you, Black Rob, will be at the vanguard of my advance," he said, looking at Black Rob darkly.

"Why Gammelthorpe, I am deeply honored. Looks like there's a lot in store for me by just dealing with you," Black Rob grinned.

"Your cup overfloweth in the House of Gammelthorpe, " Thaddeus said in a faux poetic inflection. "All I ask of you is your loyalty."

"I would owe you bigtime, Thad my man," he then reached out his hand to him. Thaddeus reached out his to shake his hand, but Rob grabbed his hand, pulled him closer, and gave him a hearty backslap. Curly scowled at him, not used to such casual show of respect.

"_Cheeky bastard_," Thaddeus thought, as he tried to force a smile at Rob.

"And as a sign of good faith, you are free to indulge on my hospitality. _Mi casa es tu casa_. And Foxy Leona?" he turned to Lila.

"Yes, Thaddeus?"

"Make sure my main man here is _entertained_," he smiled slyly at the her. "Your services shall be duly compensated."

"I'm ever so certain that Mr. Rob here shall get the "_entertainment_" he wants," she then flashed an impish grin at him. His eyes then flashed with lust and passion.

"Thank you, Foxy Leona," Thaddeus nodded at her.

"_Thanks Curly. You're making things way too easy for me_," Lila thought, smiling at the self-proclaimed "street pharmacologist".

"Now, if you guys would excuse me and my _amour," _Thaddeus said, standing up and taking Rhonda with him. "We need to take care of something..."

"Take care of something?" Rhonda asked innocently.

"Yes..." he purred, and took her hand, putting it on his crotch. "_This_, you can take care?"

"Oh..." Rhonda shuddered for a moment, resisting Thaddeus. She vainly tried to push her away. "No, Thaddeus, please..._not here_..."

"Oh yes, Rhonda, _right here_..." he said darkly. He then took out a black pill from his pocket, put it on his tongue. He then gave Rhonda a deep kiss. She let out a soft moan as Thaddeus probed his tongue deeper into her mouth. Rhonda's stiff body soon melted, her back arched and moved like a wave, responding to Thaddeus' masterful hands, and soon hers were snaked around him. He cupped her buttocks with both of his hands, carried her, and slammed her against the wall.

"Oh!" Rhonda whimpered as her head banged against the cushioned wall. Curly began kissing her hungrily, like a ravenous wolf, while Rhonda moaned and her body quivered. His hand snaked through her waist, and made its way to her crotch. With a deft stroke, his finger parted her sheer underwear and worked its way into Rhonda.

"Ohhhh...myyyy...Goooood..." she screamed as his fingers pulsed within him. She didn't know which direction to turn her head to. Rhonda was consumed with unnatural lust. It is as if she wanted to feel his body, every inch of him. She wanted him to smother every inch of her skin with his kisses. Hell, she wanted him _inside her_, right there and then. And to that, Thaddeus happily obliged. He zipped down his pants and thrusted deep into her, pounding her mercilessly against the cushioned wall.

"Oh...oh...oh...oh..." Rhonda moaned like a porn actress in some seedy porn flick. She didn'ty care if she's being fucked in full view everybody. Hell, everybody else in the room were getting it on. On the corner, on the couches, even on top of the grand piano. Everybody, _save_ for Rob and Lila.

Lila gulped hard at the sight of Thaddeus and Rhonda getting it on. She felt someone grope around her waist, and whispered behind her ear.

"Are you just contented watching them? Don't you want to try it yourself?"

She turned around to see who it was. Black Rob. She smiled back at him.

"I'm ever so certain I want to try," she whispered back in an equally sultry tone. She took a quick gaze around to look for Rob's men. Torvald and Chocolate Boy were busy getting it on with their respective partners. Perfect. She has Black Rob _all by herself_. She took his hand and led him into one of the rooms along the hallway at the end of the drawing room. She felt the brooch pinned on her corset. This was her fail-safe. If everything goes wrong, this was the only thing she could rely on. And her gun. She got it holstered on her left thigh. Good thing she decided to wear skirt today. Women have more hiding places in their body than men, she thought.

_"Ten minutes," _she reminded herself as she opened the door, revealing a small room with a heart-shaped bed.

_"Perfect,"_ she smiled a bit. All she needs to do was to stall Black Rob in this room. She turned around and smiled at Black Rob.

"Now lie back and let me take care of-umph!"

Black Rob abruptly planted his lips into hers. Lila tried to resist. She tried pushing him back, but he was too strong. It was the roughest kiss she ever had in ages. He felt his tongue drill through her lips and into her mouth. She felt him shove something into her mouth with her tongue. It felt like a candy. It tasted like mint, but a bit tangy. She let out a soft moan as he forced her on to the bed. His stocky chest squashed her full breasts as his arms snaked around her, undoing the laces of her corset.

Soon, the minty flavor vanished from her mouth as Rob slobbered his lips all over hers. The candy, or pill, that he shoved into her mouth must had already melted. Then, an unnatural warmth began to well within Lila. It was as if the dim lights the lit the room seemed to dance by themselves as Rob continued to indulge in his lust for her body like a hungry bear who just woke up from hibernation.

_"God, what is this sensation?!"_

Lust began to fill Lila's body, starting from her crrotch, and spread like wildfire to her legs, to her breasts, and to her lips. It is as if her body longed to be touched. Black Rob's skin felt like smoldering embers. It burned her skin as his chafed against hers. But it burned in a _good way_. His breath against her neck felt like dragonfire, but how her body craved for it.

_"No, I must not be carried away...I need to focus...I need to stall him...but...ohhhh..."_

Black Rob finally undid the laces of her corset, and pulled it down, exposing her full breasts. He then buried himself unto her chest and started nibbling, or rather, _devouring_ her nipples. Lila arched her back and dug her fingernails on her back.

"Ohhhh...oh my loord...auuuggghhh...!" she moaned and screamed crazily as a jolt of overpowering lust filled her, shutting off all of her senses. All she could see were colors. She could not even hear her own screams, nor she have an idea what she was screaming. All she felt was the burning touch of his skin, and his ravenous maw devouring her nipple, while his strong hand were busy mashing her other breast. He then paused and looked up at her.

"You like that, huh? You like it rough? You _slutty redhead_...you like that, you _slut._ You're a real slut, are you? _Are you_?!" he shook her a bit as she whimpered in _crazed_ pleasure.

_"No, I'm not a slut! I may be a stripper, but I am no slut!"_

"Yes...I am...I am a slut...I'm a redheaded slut!" she moaned, her sensibilities totally extinguished by desire and lust.

He grinned at her, "I thought so...I bet you'll go crazy for this..." He then let his hand crawl up her thighs. Lila shuddered upon feeling his rough hand crawling up.

_"No! Not there! No! He will see! No...ooomph!"_

All her willpower to resist him had been extinguished as he devoured her breast, nibbling her nipple a bit, toying it with his tongue. She's going crazy by this flood of sensations. Nothing existed beyond this bed. She was seeing in colors. Her vision was nothing but a kaleidoscope of green, purple, blue, magenta, all swirling and moving in sync with his movements. She could be lost in this field of colors forever. She could stay like this forever. The hell with her mission. _The hell with him._

_**CLICK!**_

She felt a cold metal press against her temple. The field of colors suddenly faded to black, and her sight returned to normal. A jolt of fear sobered her, and all the lust that consumed her disappeared altogether. All she saw was a smirking black devil, pressing the muzzle of her small pistol against her temple. She gaped at him in horror. Panic began to fill her.

_"No! It can't be! I must get away! I must..."_

"You wicked redheaded slut! You think you can trick me?" he said lowly, still smirking at her. "That blonde bitch Pataki must have sent you to _do me_, am I right?"

"No, I didn't...it's not my...ooooohhhhhh!" she moaned loudly. The kaleidoscope of colors filled her vision again. The lustful desires and sensations flooded her senses once more. Her desire to push him away and escape was drowned by the burning sensation that enveloped her body, starting from her pussy, spreading like wildfire all throughout. Her survival instinct had been pushed back by the lustful beast that had pervaded all her sensibilities.

"That should hold you down," Black Rob said evilly, burying his middle and index finger deeper into Lila's folds, rubbing her clit vigorously with his thumb.

"So Pataki thinks you can _do me_ that easy?" he smirked at her. "Well, fat chance, bitch. Not if I _do you_, and eventually _do her_ first."

Lila wanted to protest, wanted kick and scream, but she was powerless in the hands, or rather, _fingers_ of Black Rob. She was like his marionette, and her _pussy_ was the string that he held to control her. She could do nothing but to moan helplessly.

He drew his head closer to her, his hot breath burning her skin like hellfire, "Not just yet, Foxy Leona. _Not just yet_. You can't _do me_ yet, not that I have Gammelthorpe eating right on the palm of my hand."

"He thinks that he can have me as his _bannerman_? Or should I say, his _lapdog_? He thinks I could be his _pawn_ in expanding his market? For all I know, he will be kicking me out to the curb once he had no more use for me. Fat chance I would let that happen."

"The moment I get my hands on my first cache of Black Sky from him, it will be just a matter of time before I could reverse engineer that shit, and produce a Black Sky of my own. I got Justin, the best street chemist around, and I'm sure he can easily figure the formula out."

"Yes, I'll bide my time under Gammelthorpe," he continued as Lila lied helplessly, arching her back, moaning from either pleasure, or vainly resisting the effects of the pill that he shoved into her. "I'll take the time to build up my resources, without him suspecting. Yes, I would go _as low_ as sucking up to him to keep him from suspecting. Then, right in the moment he suspects least, I'll give him the sucker punch."

"Yes, it'll be a hostile takeover. The sun will set on Gammelthorpe, and the Day of Black Rob shall come. I'll take everything from him, including that _piece of ass _Rhonda." His eyes gleamed with desire for the rich brunette.

"I'll show her how she ought to be treated. I'll show her that she ain't deserve to be treated like shit, like that _crazy shit_ Gammelthorpe does. She'll be my queen to my empire. Hell, I'm a better man compared to that _nutjob_. Don't you agree?"

"Ooohhh...urghhhmmm...auhhnnnmmm..." Lila replied, moaning unintelligibly as his fingers drilled vigorously deeper into her folds.

"I thought so. Not you, _not even Pataki_ can stop me from my _manifest destiny_. It'll not be Gammelthorpe's banner I'll be carrying deep into East Hillwood, but it'll be mine. _Mine_, I tell you!" His eyes now gleamed with mad ambition.

"But first, I need to get rid of you. There's no way I'll allow your _blonde pimp _to stop me from my destiny. But first..." he drew closer to her face. "I'll make the best out of you. I have to admit, you're one _fine piece of ass, Foxy Leona_." He then trailed her jawline with kisses, which caused her to moan louder. With a forceful tug, he ripped her sheer panties. He then forced her legs open, and unzipped his pants, ready to thrust into her.

"Oooooooohhhh! Aaaaggghhhhhh!" Lila screamed as he forcefully thrusted his manhood into her. He then began pounding her mercilessly against the bed. The bed shook and the springs squeaked as he violently pounded her harder than a butcher tenderizing a meat would.

A wild clash of colors and sensations began to fill her vision. The lustful beast within her finally won over her sensibilities. It's over, she thought. After he climaxed, after she indulged to the basest desires of her inner lustful beast, it will be over for her. He's going to kill her, for sure. There's no way he would let him live after this, no matter how hard she begs.

She might as well as enjoy every breathing moment she had left by indulging in her lust and basest desires. That's life, she thought.

_"No."_

Something inside her stirred.

_"No Lila."_

Her survival instinct, which was now in the death grip of her lustful beast's maw, stirred, giving one last futile attempt to live.

"_You can't just give up._"

She tried move her arms, to resist her inner lustful beast, to fight for dear life, but to no avail. Her lustful beast's grip was too strong to resist.

_"You are more than this."_

_"You are no skank."_

_"Fight, Lila."_

_"Fight."_

Summoning all of her remaining strength, she moved her hand to her chest and on her corset, where she tried to feel around for something.

Her fail-safe. It should be around here. But she felt nothing. Nothing.

All her last ounce for hope had been crushed. The brooch must have fell off when Black Rob ripped her corset off.

It's over. It's _all over_.

Rob continued pounding Lila mercilessly, thrusting every inch of his manhood into her , moaning and growling like a crazed rabid wolf. Her body shook with his every thrust. She let her arms lifelessly fall on her sides, like a martyr resigned to be crucified in the name of a faceless god she was devoted to.

God. Was he even watching this?

If God, angels, and other heavenly beings ever exist, now was the perfect time to make themselves known and prove their existence.

Then she felt something. On the back of her hand. Something hard. Something prickly.

Her heart gave a start. This is it. This is her line to Heaven. This is her hope for her Angel to descend upon her, and swoop her away from this rapacious Black Devil.

With her last ounce of strength, she cupped it with her hand, and felt for the smooth emerald stone. She them pressed it as hard as she could before she let her hand fall limp on her side.

_"In your hands, I commend my fate." _

His pounding became faster and faster, his growls and moans becoming more crazed and wild than ever before. With one last ferocious growl, he climaxed inside her. She felt his seed shoot within her, scorching like lava melting through her womb. He then collapsed on top of her, heaving his every breath. After a few minutes, he looked at her in the eye. Their gazes locked on each other, his dark brown eyes meeting her hazel orbs.

"Dammit, shawtie. _No bitch_ ever made me cum _so hard_ like that. You're one fine _piece of ass_, I tell ya." He then gave her one last slobbery kiss.

"Unfortunately, girl," he said, standing up and zipping up his pants. "This is where it all ends." He then aimed the muzzle of her subcompact pistol on her.

_**CLICK!**_

"It's so nice knowing and _fucking you_, _Foxy Leona,_" he pressed the muzzle of the gun against her forehead. Lila closed her eyes, preparing for the worst. Her lips moved, whispering a silent prayer.

_**CRASSSHHH! BLAAAAAG!**_

Lila opened her eyes to see her Angel came crashing in through the door. Her Angel staggered and swayed from side to side, crashing against the dresser and knocking the lampshade on to the floor. He struggled to keep himself standing straight. His messy blonde hair was all dishelved under his fedora hat.

"Hey, dawwwg," he slurred at Black Rob as the Angel clumsily adjusted his Rayban shades. "Ish thisshh the mensh rooom?"

Black Rob gave the unwelcome, drunken Angel a death glare, "Fuck no! Get the hell outta here!" He hollered at him, keeping the muzzle of the gun pressed on Lila's head.

"Yesssh?! Weeelll, I thought so..." he staggered towards the closet, where he stood facing it, his leg spread apart. He then unzipped his pants, and a steady stream of piss began to hit the ebony closet door, soaking the carpet on which he stood on with his own urine.

"Hey moron! I said this ain't the men's room-!" Rob hollered at the pissing _drunken_ Angel.

"_Oh no...not me...we never lost control...you're face...to face...with the man who sold the world!_" the drunken Angel sang, or rather, _wailed_ off-key as he continued soaking up the closet door with his own urine, ignoring Black Rob's rants.

"Goddammit, you sonnofabitch! Are you deaf?! Imma kill your ass, motherfucker!" Black Rob then stood up and rushed to the drunken Angel. He was ready to pummel him with his handgun and was about to swing his arm at him.

_**WHOOSH! PAAK!**_

The Angel suddenly turned around and caught his hands by the wrist, and held it with a vise-like grip. Their eyes then locked at each other. What Black Rob saw made him freeze right on his tracks.

It was a pair of unearthly steely _green orbs_ staring directly into him, as if piercing through his soul. Then, an evil grin broke across the Angel's lips.

"It's bedtime, Black Rob. Playtime's over," he said in his unearthly, husky voice.

"Hey what's the-!"

_**BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!**_

"GYAAAAAHHHH!" Black Rob screamed as the Angel prodded him with his black "lightning wand", sending Rob's body jerking uncontrollably as hundreds of volts of electricity passed through him.

_"And He shall smite the wicked with His Divine Wrath..."_

Lila stared in disbelief as she saw Black Rob collapsed on the floor unconscious, convulsing and jerking uncontrollably after her _Angel_ smote him with his "Divine Wrath. With a newfound strength, she flew into his arms, and wrapped her arms around him. She held him _ever so_ tight. Oh how she loved his body's warmth. His warmth was not like of Rob's that scorches her like hellfire, but a soothing, calming warmth that gives her mind peace, and soothes her inner beast. At that moment, she wanted nothing but to be glued to her Angel forever, subsisting only on his Heavenly warmth.

"Are you okay, Lila?" he asked her in his soothing heavenly voice.

"I am now," she replied, pressing her half-naked body to him. Oh how she wished for them to stay like forever. She then looked at his verdant eyes. How peaceful and calming it is to look at them. For a moment, she had forgotten how she was violated and ravaged by a rapacious Black Devil, who now lied unconscious on the floor at the foot of her Savior. Her Angel.

_"Come here, my Angel."_

She tenderly pressed her lips on his, and softly parted it with her tender tongue. Her Angel resisted her advances at first, but as soon as she melted into his arms, he let himself melt into hers as well. Who could resist her, he thought.

Even angels fall from grace at times.

As she let herself be overcome by his soothing warmth, she let herself fall back on the bed, dragging her Angel with her. He fell on top of her, but she did not mind.

She got her Angel in her arms. And inside her, after so long.

_"Hallelujah."_

**A/N: The song that the drunken "Angel" was singing while taking a pee was "The Man Who Sold The World", originally by David Bowie and later famously covered by Nirvana. R&R please. ^^,**


	20. Act 16: Born From Pain

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and its characters and setting, Ren and Stimpy and other characters, and the song "Born From Pain" by Earth Crisis to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 16: Born From Pain**

When Black Rob regained his senses, he found himself in a dark and stuffy place. The air was stale, and smelled strongly of old potatoes and dirt. Dammit, where was he? Last thing he remembered, he was at the Wellington-Lloyd mansion, having a good time, then was about to get it on with a lovely redhead when he discovered that she has a gun, and then a drunk guy came barging in, and then darkness.

What happened? He tried to move around, but to no avail. His hands must be bound

It took him a while for him to realize that his head was covered with a burlap sack. No wonder it smelled strongly of potatoes and dirt. He tried taking the sack off his head, but he was unable to do so. Dammit, his hands and arms were bound by ropes on the armrest of the chair where he was sitted.

_"Dammit...where am I...?!"_

"Cut me loose, you sons of bitches!" he hollered, his voice being muffled by the burlap sack.

Nothing but silence. Then suddenly, a pair of footsteps rang closer on to him.

"Looks like he's awake," a deep male voice said. "I thought you zapped him so much that you knocked him cold for good."

"Good," the other male voice. "Now we can finally get this over with."

Suddenly, someone pulled the burlap sack off his head. The bright halogen lamp pointed directly at him blinded him. He peered through the blinding light to see who they were. Two male silhouettes stood before him, wearing head masks. As his sight slowly adjusted to the bright light, he recognized the head masks these two were wearing. It's from his favorite cartoon show he watched as a kid. The taller black guy (he knew he was black coz he saw his mocha-colored arm) was wearing that neurotic chihuahua Ren, while the white guy (again, he saw his pale arms) was dopey-looking fat dumb cat, Stimpy.

He must be high, or that drunk guy must have zapped him too hard, he thought. It's Ren and Stimpy, in flesh.

"Who...who are you?! And why are you wearing ...those funny Halloween masks?!" Black Rob asked them, fear obvious in his voice.

"Is this the horndog who made a pass on Lila?" '_Ren'_ asked '_Stimpy'_, ignoring Black Rob's question.

'Stimpy' nodded, "Yes. It's him. God knows what he could have done to Lila if I came any later. Poor girl...she's just doing us a favor by agreeing to help us...she didn't deserve any of this..." he said ruefully.

"Where is she now"? 'Ren' asked.

"She's at the back. She's sleeping."

"Ohhh! So that redheaded slut is in cahoots with you bozos! Why I should have..."

_**THUGGSH!**_

A heavy straight punch landed squarely on Black Rob's jaw, sending him flying to his side, only to be held down by the ropes that bound him on the chair to which he was bound. 'Ren' grabbed a fistful of Black Rob's hair, and held his head up, looking at him dead in the eye.

"That is for Lila, you filthy horndog," he snarled on his face. Rob only replied with a mocking smile.

"So that bitch got a name. Lila...I tell yah, she was some piece of ass, brother. She's a real _slut_. You should have seen her how she squirmed and moaned when I started fucking her...dayummm..."

_**THUGZZH!**_

Another heavy punch landed on the other side of the jaw, sending him reeling on the side. 'Ren' grabbed a fistful of Rob's hair and held his head up.

"You ain't talking shit about our friend here, motherfucker!" he roared on his face. Rob smirked back at 'Ren', and spitted right on to the headmask's "mouth", where the slot for the peephole for the wearer's eyes was.

"The fuck...?!" he cursed as he turned around, took off his head mask, and wiped off the bloody saliva off his eye. Rob was chuckling crazily as 'Ren' put his head mask back on, and turned to Rob, seething.

_**THUUUGZHHH! UMMMPH! BIFFF! THOOMPH!**_

'Ren' started pummeling Black Rob left and right mercilessly as if possessed by a demon. After almost a minute of merciless beating him up, 'Ren' paused, panting, heaving his every breath. After catching his breath, he raised his fist, ready for another round of pummeling.

"Gera-, I mean, 'Ren', that's enough!" 'Stimpy' hollered.

'Ren' lowered his fist, looking down at the aftermath of his "handiwork": Rob's left eye was swollen shut, two or three of his teeth have been knocked loose, his lips was swollen and bleeding, his jaw was beginning to bruise badly.

"Urrrrggghh..." he moaned incoherently.

'Stimpy' stepped closer to Rob and stood right in front of him, "I apologize if my associate 'Ren' here had given you a rough handling. You had it coming though, I have to admit."

Rob slowly lifted his head, peering at the white guy in a red fat cat with a blue nose head mask.

"We just want to ask questions, Mr. Rob. And you're going to be a nice boy, and answer us nicely, okay? You see, 'Ren' here is a bit cranky, and I'm afraid that's the _not_ only thing he's gonna do to you."

Rob replied with a snort, smirking at 'Stimpy'.

"We know that you run a protection racket, Mr. Rob. You harbor fugitives under your wing, keep them safe and hidden away from the cops and bounty hunters, all _for a price_. There's a certain fugitive who is under your wing that we are most interested. And I hope you can tell us more about him."

'Stimpy' stared down at him dead in the eye, "Stavros the cop killer. Does it ring any bell?"

Rob simply laughed and shook his head.

'Stimpy' nodded knowingly, and turned to 'Ren', "I guess he had forgotten about him. Let's help him remember."

"Yes, I will help him remember alright. Hehehe," 'Ren' cackled evily.

_**THOOGZH! CRASH!**_

"Uggghhh!" Black Rob groaned.

'Ren' gave Rob a straight kick on his chest, knocking him and the chair backwards. A dusty bootprint from his combat shoes was imprinted on his shirt. Rob laid on his back, still sitted and bound on the chair.

'Ren' took a towel and twirled it around as he looked down at Rob.

"Wha-...what the hell are you doing...!?" Rob asked, his voice quivering, afraid of what terror 'Ren' would unleash.

"This is how we make terrorists _talk_ back in Afghanistan...the towel treatment!" 'Ren' replied, and then threw the towel on Rob's face, draping his whole face on it.

"Hey what's the big idea...gurrrgurrgurrhhh...!"

'Ren' began pouring water from a water bottle to Rob's face, soaking up the whole towel. As the towel became soaked, water seeped into Rob's nose and mouth, blocking his airways, giving him a "drowning" sensation. Rob tried to gasp and scream in vain as the water-soaked towel blocked his nostrils. This is worse than actual drowning. He tried to struggle in vain, but he was tightly bound on the chair.

'Ren' then took off the towel, and looked down at Rob, who was coughing and gasping for breath.

"Where is Stavros?! Where are you hiding that sonnofabitch?!" he hollered at Rob.

"I...I...ugghh...I don't know..."

"Lying sonnofabitch..." he threw the towel back on his face, and started pouring water on him again. This time, Gerald emptied three 1-liter water bottles on him before stopping. Rob's gurgles and screams were weaker this time, and he was struggling less and less. 'Stimpy' gasped, fearing the worst.

"Ummm, 'Ren'? I think you might have...killed him..."

"No," 'Ren' flatly replied as he threw the towel off Rob's face. He was barely breathing. 'Ren' gave him a resounding slapped, which brought Rob back to his senses.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Guuurrgghhh..." he coughed as he gasped for for air.

"See? That won't kill this motherfucker that easily."

"Yeah, but that seems not making him more willing to talk any time soon," 'Stimpy' sneered.

"Then we have set it a notch higher," 'Ren' retorted, and pulled Rob back up. He was still catching his breath from his "near-drowning experience". 'Ren' then violently tore off Black Rob's shirt, and picked up a red and black alligator clamps with a cable attached to them.

"If this doesn't make you talk, I don't know what will," 'Ren' said evilly. He then drew closer to Rob and clamped the two clips on his nipples.

"Arrrggghhh!" Rob screamed a bit as jagged teeth of the two clips sank into his flesh. "What the hell?!"

'Ren' then pulled a bulky rusty metallic box from the corner, connected the cables to the metal terminals on the box, and sat on it, his hand on the switch on the side of the box.

"I'll ask you one more time. Where are you hiding Stavros?" 'Ren' asked.

"Hell if I know! Now cut me loose, or I swear I'll...!"

_**BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!**_

"YAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!" Rob screamed as more than a hundred volts of electricity passed through his body, the halogen lamp flickering dimly as the rusty box hummed into life. After a few seconds, 'Ren' turned the switch off.

"Where is Stavros?!" 'Ren' hollered at Rob, who was now heaving his every breath.

"I...I...I don't...know..."

_**BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZT!**_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!" Rob screamed as high-voltage electricity passed through his body the second time around. The "shock therapy" 'Ren' gave lasted longer than the first one he gave. When he flicked the switch off, Rob was drooling uncontrollably, his arms and legs still trembling from the shock.

"Don't make things harder for yourself, Black Rob. Just tell us where Stavros is, and we'll let you go."

Rob raised his head, and gave 'Ren' a weak smirk.

"Go...fuck...yourself..."

_**BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!**_

"GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Rob screamed as 'Ren' watched him shake violently on his chair. Thirty seconds, and Ren haven't flicked the switch off yet. The odor of burnt hair and flesh began to fill the dark room.

"Dammit, Gerald! Stop!" 'Stimpy' hollered at 'Ren', looking at him uneasily. That's the only time 'Ren' flicked the switch off.

"Dammit, you're killing him! We're just gonna make him talk, not _zap him to crisp_!" 'Stimpy' angrily said.

"Arnold, this guy deserves more than a shock therapy," 'Ren' retorted. "This horndog raped Lila. _Raped_. _Lila_. Besides, he's a tough nut to crack. All I'm doing was to soften him up."

"Soften him up!? He's barely alive!" Stimpy threw his arms to the air in exasperation.

"He knows where our man is hiding! And he ain't gonna talk if we treat him with kid gloves!"

"And he's not gonna talk either if he's _dead_!"

"Well, do you have better ideas?!"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Stimpy headed to the corner and returned with a syringe and a vial of clear liquid.

"Where did you get that?" 'Ren' asked him.

"I got my sources," he said as he drew a measure of the clear liquid from the vial with the syringe. "This guy is tough, I have to admit. We could waterboard him, zap him, and beat him to the pulp for weeks without squeezing any info from him. The fastest and easiest way to get him to crack is to break his mind."

"Bro, sometimes, you _scare_ me," 'Ren' said. 'Stimpy' simply chuckled as he drew closer to Black Rob.

"You alright there, buddy?" 'Stimpy' asked Rob who was gasping for breath. He then removed the alligator clips from the almost-charred flesh on Rob's chest. His head hang limp, his breath shallow and rapid.

"You'll be alright. This ought to make you better," 'Stimpy' said soothingly as he took his arm, and sank the needle into one of his veins, and pushed the plunger of the syringe, infusing the clear liquid into his blood.

Rob felt the cool fluid flow into his veins, and spread across his body. A strange feeling of euphoria overcame him. The dull light from the halogen lamp began to swirl and break into a myriad of rainbow rays dancing around the room. He looked Stimpy, who appeared to him like a cel-shaded character than a white guy in a head mask, and Ren, who appeared grumpier than ever.

"Don't resist it...just take it in..." Stimpy cooed, grinning at him _literally_ from ear to ear.

"Then you'll feel happy..."

"That's right..."

"Happy...happy..."

"Joy...joy..."

_"Happy...happy...joy...joy..."_

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

_When you're about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes, they say._

_Maybe he's about die. Maybe his time has come._

_A kaleidoscope of colors dances to and fro before him as scenes played back from various moment in his life on a wide screen monitor in front of him._

_That moment when he always gets home to see the overweight creature he calls "dad" passed out on the couch, his feet littered with empty beer bottles, snoring like a bear in hibernation..._

_That moment when mom comes home with another man (it's a different man every night), and telling him not to disturb as she has an "important business meeting" before she locks the door to her room with that man..._

_That moment when he beat the crap out of Eddie, that big bully from their neighborhood, after he laughed and called his mom a "ho". Ever since that day, he was feared by kids in their neighborhood. That was his first taste of power..._

_That moment when the police have to take away his mom who was in a body bag after she must have snorted too much of that white powder that she always spread across their glass coffee table..._

_That moment when he first saw the bullet from his gun punch a hole through a man's skull, and drill through his brain, exit on the other side..._

_That moment when he made love with that lovely redhead, Ruth, on top of wads of hundred bills lying on their bed, after their first successful heist..._

_The images on the wide projector screen slowly faded to white, and was replaced with a soothing, calming white light. It is as if that light has a voice of it own speaking directly into his head. It was calling him, beckoning him._

_"Rob..."_

_"Are you tired?"_

_"Come..."_

_"I will give you rest..."_

_"There's no need for you to fight..."_

_"For all we have here is peace..."_

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

"Dammit, Arnold! What the hell did you do?!" Gerald screamed at him as Arnold laid Black Rob on the floor, where he was having a violent seizure as his mouth foam oozed from his mouth. He had already torn off his stuffy head mask and thrown it aside.

"I don't know! This wasn't supposed to happen!" he replied, trying to hold Black Rob still, who was still convulsing violently.

"You overdosed him!"

"I did not!" Arnold snapped back angrily, tearing off his head mask. "I put exactly 15 cc. There's no way he could overdose!"

"Jesus Christ..." Gerald muttered angrily, rubbing his forehead.

"C'mon, live! Don't die on me!" Arnold said to Rob as he try to lie him flat on the floor and put an end to his seizure.

How could a plan that seemed so perfect go from _bad to worse_? The original plan was for Lila to lure him away from his and Curly's men, spirit Black Rob away from the party, make him talk, drug him, and dump him back to his pawnshop where he would soon wake up with no clear recollection of everything, as if everything had been just a bad dream. It sound so perfect.

Except when everything started fucking up.

Black Rob drugged Lila and made a pass on her. Now, she's asleep, and hopefully when she wakes up and the effects of the Black Sky had worn off, she won't be traumatized by the aftermath. Gerald had beaten Black Rob a little too hard. Maybe that amplified the effect of the hallucinogen, which led to this. Or maybe he had an allergic reaction to this drug.

Whatever the reason was, Arnold could not afford to let Black Rob die. If he dies, not only that they will not be able to get the info for their bounty head, but there's no telling what Curly could do to them if he finds out, especially he has now Rob under his protection. Even though they had been classmates back in PS 118.

All is fair in love and war. And this means _war_ for Curly Gammelthorpe, if Black Rob dies.

_"No! No one will die! Not in my watch!"_

Suddenly, Rob's convulsions stopped. Hiss body now laid limp, his eyes glassy. Arnold felt Rob neck, pressing his forefingers on his jugular vein.

Nothing.

"Dammit, no!" Arnold cursed. He began performing CPR on him, hoping that this would revive their captive.

"Live, you son of a bitch! Live!" he hollered as he frantically pumped his chest, hoping to bring him back to life. Gerald nervously watched his friend revive Rob, and uttered a soft prayer as he let out a deep sigh.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

_"Come with me, Rob..."_

_"Am I dead?" he asked._

_"Not yet..." the voice replied._

_"Is it my time?"_

_"No, not yet...but why wait? You're tired...aren't you?"_

_"I guess..." Rob answered. _

_"Then come...I will give you peace and rest..."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes..."_

_Rob stepped closer to the light. As he drew closer, the peaceful and calm sensation him intensified. So invigorating. So intoxicating. He longed for this sensation. No drug or amount of sex can equal t this peace and calm._

_Yes, just a little more..._

_Closer and closer..._

_Suddenly, a cataclysmic earthquake began to engulf this ethereal universe he was in. He began to lose his footing and fell on the ground (or whatever you call the stuff he's standing on). _

_But he was so close! The light was just a few feet away. He tried to stand up, but the tremors were too strong. Suddenly, the ground he was on opened up, and a deep chasm opened underneath him. He fell into it, and sank into the deep, unending darkness._

_"AHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed as he sank farther and farther from the soothing light, and deeper into the black, cold darkness._

_Then, he felt nothing. _

_No warmth, no calm, no peace._

_Just nothingness._

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

_"Dead and back, Black Rob. Dead and back."_


	21. Act 17: Superbeast

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! and its characters and setting, and the song "Superbeast" by Rob Zombie to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 17: Superbeast**

"Stand down, you sons of bitches!"

"No, you stand down, motherfucker!"

"Stand down now! We outnumber you _six to three_!"

"Bitch please, you dickwads are all lousy shots! You can't even hit an elephant at this range!"

"Ruth, I don't want this whole thing to turn ugly. We'll let Rob walk over to your side, okay? Just put your guns down, okay?" Arnold said calmly, still aiming his assault rifle at them.

"Not if you do it first!" the redhead snapped back, keeping her shotgun pointed at Arnold and Gerald, who took cover behind their car more than thirty meters away from theirs.

"Oh God, here we go again," Arnold groaned as he snorted annoyingly, keeping his sights on the shotgun-wielding redhead and her gang.

"Didn't we just had this conversation a few minutes ago?" Gerald said to Arnold, keeping his Benelli M1 Super pointed at Rob's gang across them.

"I thought so," he sighed, keeping his finger on the trigger, ready to send slugs flying to their direction at the slightest hint of provocation.

This is gonna be a longer night than he thought it would be.

**Almost an hour earlier...**

Silence plagued the two as they drove off from the abandoned warehouse where they've kept their captive after they spirited him away from the Wellington-Lloyd mansion. Gerald was the one one behind the wheel, keeping his eye on the road, avoiding glances with Arnold, who was at the shotgun seat, staring at the window blankly, contemplating the events that transpired tonight.

If something could go wrong, they would definitely go wrong.

Lila got molested after being drugged, and now sleeping peacefully on the passenger seat. Gerald got "carried away" with his "interrogation methods", and handled Rob a little rougher than usual, almost killing him. His "truth serum" did not work as expected, and almost killed Rob. But at least they were able to extract the info they had been seeking when Arnold revived him and barely snatched him from the jaws of death after minutes of frantic CPR. Rob must have thought they were angels, and gave out their desired info easier than two-dollar whore in a nickel night.

At least they now have the info on the whereabouts of their bounty head, Stavros. All that is left to do was to dump Black Rob back to his dingy pawnshop. Surely, with the dosage he received, he would think that everything was just a bad dream (how he would make sense of his bruises and scars he got from his interrogation, Arnold could only wonder), and everything would be fine and dandy. Then they have to take care of Lila until she had fully recovered and make sure she's okay and wasn't traumatized by her ordeal. Yes, hopefully this plan would not fuck up like the previous one they had before.

This night would not end up in a big clusterfuck. _It better be._

After all, they had several "insurances" in place. His F2000, Stinky's birthday gift, and Gerald's Benelli M1 Super shotgun loaded with _live ammo_. And a couple of frag grenades, just in case that shit hits the fan really hard. Stinky had been generous for the past few days, allowing them put their ammo and grenades to their tab. They promised to pay him back once they have collected their bounty for Stavros.

They finally reached the freeway. From here, it will be just a ten-minute drive to Greensburg, where Black Rob's pawnshop was located. Five minutes into the freeway, Gerald looked uneasily on the rearview and side mirror. Arnold noticed this, and looked on the side mirror at his side.

They were being followed.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

"They're here! Less than 50 feet away from us. It's a black Toyota Sportsrunner," the Asian guy staring at his laptop seated on the passenger seat exclaimed as a black SUV made its way into the toll gate.

"There! That's them! Follow them! Don't _you ever_ lose them!" the redheaded woman pointed at the black Toyota SUV that entered the freeway gate. They had been circling the freeway for almost half an hour now, waiting for the elusive Toyota SUV to make its appearance. Park, the computer genius and the self-acclaimed "king of hax", was able to hack into the Wellington-Lloyd's recorded security camera footages, and was able to identify their boss' abductor's car out of hundreds other vehicles present in the mansion that night. What he failed to do was to locate where it was headed to, failing to mount a search and rescue effort to save their boss from his abductors. After almost 12 hours of aimlessly circling the freeway (which Park figured out was the only way the abductors could have taken and will take from and to wherever they kept Black Rob), they finally hit the jackpot tonight and saw the elusive Toyota Sportsrunner. Park have never been so sure in his life. This car was the one that has their boss, or at least could lead them to his abductors.

Ruth McDougal, Rob's secretary, personal assistant, and paramour, was hysterical starting from the night Black Rob failed to return from Gammelthorpe's party to the time that Park found out that he was abducted by two men. She chewed on Justin (aka Chocolate Boy) and Torvald non-stop for letting Black Rob out of their sights. When she somewhat calmed down, she kept on insisting for Torvald, his main muscle, and Joey Stevenson, his cousin and one of his partners in his business (whether legal or _barely _legal business), and Park, his computer whiz and resident hacker, to set out with _absolutely no plan_ in mind and launch a search for Black Rob. Good thing reason and cooler heads intervened, and they (Park and Joey, Torvald excluded 'coz he's a simpleminded yes-man) where able to convince the hysterical redhead to calm down, and allow Park to trace the vehicle in question, then from there they can plan their next move.

And now, it's time to move.

Joey was the one behind the wheel, while Torvald was riding shotgun. They eyed the black SUV carefully as Joey snaked through the traffic, careful not to lose sight of the vehicle in question. Ruth and Park held on to their seats, Park still fixated on his laptop as he scans through the vehicle registration database, looking for the info on the owner of the SUV they're after. Ruth had a shotgun in her hands, fully loaded, eager to empty shells on that car. Justin, who was seated between Ruth and Park, was staring blankly on his front, wondering how this little car chase was going to unfold.

_Tonight, there will be blood_, Ruth thought.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

"Someone's following us."

"Who?"

"Black Mercedes-Benz at 6 o'clock."

Arnold glanced at the rearview mirror. A black shiny Mercedes-Benz CL63 was tailing about 30 feet behind them. It suspiciously followed their every move. If they swerve to the left, it would then swerve to the left. If they went right, it would go right. Arnold recognized the car.

"Rob's men. They found us."

"No worries, I'll lose 'em." Gerald said as he swerved to the right, heading to the nearest exit. Hopefullly, the pile of cars that stood between them had provided enough cover and didn't see them go through the exit.

After they made it a few miles away from the exit and into the city streets, Arnold glanced on the rearview and side mirror.

"Did we lost them?"

"Seems like it" Gerald replied, unable to see any pair of headlights tailing behind them.

"Good, let's make our way to Greensburg from here, and get this over with."

A full minute had past when they heard the sound of tires screaming faintly behind them, and a pair of faint headlights was slowly looming at them. They're back in the race.

"Shit, it's them! Floor it, Gerald!"

Gerald pushed the SUV's engine to it limit. The engine was screaming like a speeding stallion being whipped by its cruel master to go faster. Despite their engine in full rev, the black Mercedes-Benz was slowly closing in. Arnold knew that there's no way that a measly Toyota SUV could outrun a Mercedes-Benz...

_**PHOOM! TSCHANG! PHOOM! PSCHSCHIIIWW!**_

Gunfire erupted behind them, and slugs hit and ricocheted on their SUV's bumper, sending sparks flying off. Gerald and Arnold instinctively ducked down. Lila stirred out from her slumber, groaning as her eyes fluttered open. Black Rob, whose effect of

"Wha-whatever is going on?" she asked drowsily.

_**PHOOM! TSCHCHIIIW!**_

"Get down!" Arnold screamed at him, shoving her down to her seat as more slugs hit the trunk and bumper of their car. There are even stray slugs that managed to punch through the glass of their rear window.

God, are they crazy? What the hell were they thinking? Black Rob was still with them, and have they realized that they could accidentally hit Black Rob with their incessant firing? He swerved from right to left, trying to shake them off from their sights. Fewer and fewer slugs hit them, but the gunfire still continued. It's a good thing it was past midnight. The streets were practically empty, and they have it for their whole car chase sequence all for themselves.

"Dammit!" Arnold cursed under his breath as he reached for a suitcase resting below him, undid the locks, and threw it open, revealing a futuristic-looking assault rifle inside.

_"F2000."_

He grinned, took it out, and inserted a fully loaded clip into it, and chambered the first round.

_**TSCHICK!**_

"_Eat this!_"

Arnold rolled down the window, and stuck out half of his body out of the window, aiming his assault rifle at the pair of headlights trailing behind them...

_**BRATATATAT! BRATATATAT! BRATATATAT!**_

...and let out three bursts at their pursuers. Sparks flew off the hood as some of the slugs randomly hit and ricocheted off the pursuing vehicle. Most of the slugs however hit the road below. Hitting a speeding vehicle while on _another_ speeding vehicle looks easier on the movies, Arnold thought. Keeping the car within the sights of his assault rifle was hard enough with their car going over ninety, not to mention the bumpy road, Gerald swerving every now and then, and _his target_ swerving from right to left as well. He gripped his assault rifle as he readied for another shot...

_**BRATATATATAT! BRATATATAT!**_

...and let out two quick burst. He only managed to hit the road below and knock out of of the headlights. He was aiming for one of the tires in order to slow it down. He was tempted to just aim at the driver's seat (which was way easier) to put a bullet into the driver's head to bring this chase to an end, but he doesn't need another needless casualty for tonight. Having the girl he _once loved_ molested for his sake, and almost overdosing their captive was enough. He cursed under his breath as he pulled himself back inside to reload his assault rifle. He _missed_.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

**A few minutes ago...**

"Dammit!" Joey cursed loudly as slugs hit and ricocheted on the hood and the front bumper, instinctively ducking behind the wheel, swerving from right to left. Ruth, who had been pumping shotgun shells on to the black SUV, suddenly slid back inside, screaming, and cowering for cover the moment that the guy returned fire.

_**PSSCHIWW! THOOOK!**_

Slugs hit their car like hail before a tornado. All of them took cover behind something.

"What are you waiting for?! Shoot back, stupid!" Ruth screamed at Torvald after the barrage died down, who was still hunched behind the dashboard. He dumbly looked at her before frantically nodding, and sticking out his hand and head out of the window, aiming his handgun to the SUV they're pursuing.

_**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

He fired his Sig Sauer on the black SUV, some of the slugs hitting the tail light, knocking it off. After a few seconds, Ruth stuck her body out of the window and started pumping shells on to their target vehicle...

_**PHOOM! PHOOM! PHOOM!**_

"Eat this, motherfuckers! Bwahahaha!" she hysterically laughed as she discharged one shell after another.

_**BOOOOOOOM!**_

Ruth made a lucky hit on the left rear tire of the black SUV. Ruth grinned as she watched the tire instantly deflate and burst into a fray of rubber strips, sending the Toyota Sportsrunner swerving uncontrollably from right to left.

"Haha! How do you like that, bitches!" she cackled evilly as she watched the SUV spin uncontrollably on the road...

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

**SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEECH!**

"UUUUURRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH! DAMMMMIIIIIIIIT!" Gerald hollered as he struggled to bring the swerving vehicle to control. He was holding the wheel with all his might, spinning it left to right to stabilize their out of control vehicle, but it continued to swerve from right to left until it spinned endlessly in circles, the car tilting dangerously to its side, threatening to tip over.

"Aaaggghhh!" Arnold groaned, holding on to the dashboard to stop himself from being thrown off like a rag doll.

"EEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHKK!" Lila screamed as she was helplessly pinned down by Black Rob, who still appeared to be drugged and in a haze, against the door to the side as the car spinned doughnuts through the street.

Gerald desperately tried to countersteer by spinning the wheel to the opposite direction to which their car was spinning in order to bring it into halt.

"C'mon, you sonnofabitch!" he cursed as he held on to the steering wheel. His eye caught the sight of something on the sidewalk as their car continued spinning uncontrollably.

_"Shit..."_

_**BLOOOOOOOGGGGSSSSSZZZHH!**_

"AAARRRGGHHH!" URRRGGGHH!" EGAAAAAAAD!" they collectively screamed inside as their car was brought into a sudden halt after its tail crashed into something on the sidewalk. Arnold and Gerald almost flew out their seats if not for their seatbelts, while the ones behind, Lila and Black Rob, were not so fortunate, and were thrown to the side like rag dolls, Rob piled on top of Lila.

"Eeek! Get off me, you pig!" she screamed, shoving Rob off him, who only replied with a grunt as he slid off her.

**+-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+ +-=NOIR=-+**

"We got them!" Ruth screamed hysterically as she watched the black SUV slam against the fire hydrant, knocking it off its place, producing a high-pressured geyser on its place.

They hurriedly got out of their car, grabbing their weapons with them, and slowly headed to the black Toyota, all their weapons pointed to the black vehicle. Joey kept the muzzle of his AR-30 pointed to the front door, anticipating someone who would try to exit the vehicle through it, while Torvald kept the sights of his Kalashnikov at the rear door. Ruth was leading the squad, pointing her Benelli M1 shotgun left and right, eager to pump shell to anyone who will stir out of the car they had been searching and pursuing for hours. Behind her were Park and Justin, who were nervously pointing their handguns left and right, their aims shaky. As they inched closer to the SUV and the water from the fire hydrant pelted the car from the above as it shot up into the air, only to fall back crashing on to the Toyota Sportsrunner's roof, nothing stirred within the car. Did they all get knocked unconscious by the impact? If that's the case, then the tables had turned into their favor, and they could hold these animals captives, and exact their revenge on them for kidnapping Black Rob, Ruth thought, smiling slyly as she drew closer and closer to the car...

_**BANG!**_

"Eeeeaaaahhhhh!" Ruth screamed as a hot slug hit her shoulder with a force of a sledgehammer hitting a concrete wall. She was knocked off her feet, falling on to her back, catching a glimpse of her shooter: a redheaded woman, drenched with the water from the fire hydrant, pointing a handgun at her.

"Ruth!" they collectively exclaimed, seeing her get shot and fall on the ground. Justin and Park rushed to drag her back to the safety of their car while Torvald and Joey started firing at the car as they slowly retreated back to their car.

_**BRATATATATAT! BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

They peppered the car with slugs, punching holes on the door and windows.

"Stop it, you idiots! Rob might still be inside! You're gonna hit him...arrrgggh!" Ruth hollered above the gunfire as Justin and Park held her down, trying to stop her from moving around much and cause more bleeding. That's the only time when gunshots finally stopped.

An eerie and uneasy silence pervaded the air between them. The air was still. No one stirred from the Toyota SUV. Maybe they got them after that hail of gunfire...

_**BRATATATATAT! BANG! BANG! PHOOM! PHOOM! PHOOM!**_

...or perhaps they spoke too soon. A hail of gunfire coming from the opposite side erupted, and slugs pelted their car like hail, punching holes across their car on the doors and windows. Their car is going to end up like a cheese grater at this rate. Air hissed out one of the tires as one of the slugs sliced through the rubber.

After what seemed like eternity, the gunfire finally abated. Then, another dead silence. Is it safe to come out?

Without second thought, they broke out of cover, aiming their guns on to the vehicle on the other side, even Ruth, who struggled to get up, holding her shotgun with her right hand, propped on the car roof, while she other hand pressed against her wound. They came face to face with their attackers, who also got their guns pointed at them as well: a blond guy with a messy hair who was pointing a futuristic-looking assault rifle, a redheaded woman pointing her handgun at them, and an African-American guy who got his shotgun pointed at them. All of them were hunched behind their heavilly damaged car, drenched with the water from the fire hydrant. Three?! It was just the three of them all along?! So these were the bozos who gave them such a headache.

Arnold scanned the gunmen on the other side and identified them one by one: Ruth Mcdougal, Joey Stevenson, Torvald Watson, Justin Redford, and Joo-hyun Park. He then realized that they were heavily outnumbered. Engaging them in a protracted gunbattle would be no use. They don't have enough ammunition to go around, and Lila was very much inexperienced when it comes to gunfights. The hit she scored on Ruth was just a fluke, and the flurry of slugs flying on to their general direction sends her to panic. Arnold needed to engage them on another type of warfare he excelled on. The type he knew he had definite advantage over them.

Diplomacy.

"Ruth! I know you're there! Listen, it doesn't have to end this way! We can end this peacefully! We have someone here that you're looking for..."

"Just who the fuck are you?! I swear to God, I'll murder your ass if you lay a finger on...!" Ruth screamed at the blond angrily.

"It doesn't matter who the hell are we! I doesn't have to be this way, Ruth! We could settle this peacefully! We have Black Rob inside the car, alive and kicking, and all you guys need to do is..."

"Fuck you and your terms!" she spat back. "I say you let him go, or we'll pump you with lead so bad your momma won't even recognize you!"

"Hear me out first, Ruth!" Arnold hollered back, trying to stay as calm as possible with this redhead being a stubborn "negotiatee". "All we're saying is that you guys stand down, and we'll let Black Rob walk over to you guys there. We won't try anything funny as long as you guys do the same. Or..."

"Or what?!"

"Or this!" Gerald snapped back, pointed his shotgun inside the car, and...

_**PHOOOM!**_

Ruth let out a frightened shriek, followed by a frightened groan coming from inside the Toyota. Arnold gawked at Gerald, taken aback by his sudden action. He was just hoping to talk Ruth and the gang into standing down, and then they would let Black Rob go, and make their getaway scot-free. But Gerald upped the ante by showing them that they were in _no mood_ to fuck around. Now shit just got real!

"You animals! You motherfuckers stand better stand down or..."

"Stand down, you sons of bitches!" Gerald snapped back at Ruth.

"No, you stand down, motherfucker!" Joey shouted back at him.

"Stand down now! We outnumber you six to three!" Torvald backed Joey up in their "shouting match".

"Bitch please, you dickwads are lousy shots! You can't even hit an elephant at this range!" Gerald retorted.

"Ruth, I don't want this whole thing to turn ugly. We'll let Rob walk over to your side, okay? Just put your guns down, okay?" Arnold said calmly, still aiming his assault rifle at them.

"Not if you do it first!" the redhead snapped back, keeping her shotgun pointed at Arnold and Gerald, who took cover behind their car more than thirty meters away from theirs.

"Oh God, here we go again," Arnold groaned as he snorted annoyingly, keeping his sights on the shotgun-wielding redhead and her gang.

"Didn't we just had this conversation a few minutes ago?" Gerald said to Arnold, keeping his Benelli M1 Super pointed at Rob's gang across them.

"I thought so," he sighed, keeping his finger on the trigger, ready to send slugs flying to their direction at the slightest hint of provocation.

"Ruth, stop being so stubborn! We know you're wounded, and your losing blood. I know you want to get this night over with, so stand down now, and we'll let Black Rob go!" Arnold yelled at her direction.

Ruth's vision began to blur. She shook her head to snap herself awake and clear her vision. She knew it was just adrenaline that's keeping her on her feet, and it's fading fast every minute. She wouldn't last long at this rate. Arnold had a point after all.

"Okay...but don't you _ever dare_ to pull a fast one on us. Or else..."

"...we're gonna shoot you, or you're dead. This is becoming ever so old," Lila commented at Arnold.

"Yet this may be our chance to get out of this mess in one piece. I don't want this to end in a bloodbath, Lila. I just wanna home, have a hot shower, and have a cheesy meaty pizza all by myself," Arnold replied.

"Hey, how about me?" Gerald asked, hunched behind the car's rear.

"Yeah, and a cold beer with my best buddy," Arnold added.

"Thanks, bro. Now let's get this over with," Gerald said, keeping hunched behind their SUV's rear.

Arnold nodded, "Right," and turned to Ruth's direction and shouted, "Alright, we're letting Black Rob walk to your side. As promised, we will not pull a fast one on you."

Black Rob's entourage watched with anticipation, watching tensely as the side door slowly opened, and a tall African-American man crawled out of it, rolled on to the pavement before pulling himself back to his feet. He staggered like cartoon drunk from left to right, heading to his gang's direction as he swayed from left to right, threatening to collapse back to the pavement. He was mumbling something incoherently as he inched his way to Ruth's side.

Both sides watched Black Rob intently as he made his way across. Arnold, though he had given his word that they wouldn't try anything funny, he didn't trust the other party would hold their end of the bargain. He kept the sights of his assault rifle aimed to Torvald, whose stocky body was poorly hidden behind the Mercedes-Benz. If shit hits the fan, he will be the first one to be picked off.

Ruth was seething seeing in a drunken or drugged state. _What have they done to him?!_ She was trying restrain herself from pumping shells at Arnold's direction. With Black Rob still in the middle, he might be caught in the crossfire. She tensed and kept the muzzle of her shotgun aimed at Arnold's direction while keeping an eye on Black Rob, who was almost a few yards away from their car.

The tension between them was so thick, you can slice it with a knife.

"Joey, go get him! We'll cover you!" Ruth barked out as Black Rob staggered a few feet away from them. Joey rushed out of his cover to get Black Rob, pulling him inside the car, laying him on the back seat. That's the only time he got a closer look at his cousin. His face was cut and badly bruised, his shirt was encrusted with dried blood.

"Those bastards," he angrily muttered before he emerged out of the car and aimed his rifle at Arnold.

Arnold was expecting Black Rob's gang to open the moment they grabbed him into their car. He braced himself for a hail of bullets flying on their way. Five, ten, twenty seconds has passed. No gunfire! but he did not let his guard down yet. Not just yet.

"Gerald, get in and start the car. We'll drive off the first moment we get a chance. Me and Lila would cover you," he said to Gerald, who promptly complied and slipped in to the car, sliding in the key to the ignition and truning it, bringing life to the engine.

"You assholes! You'll not get away from this unscathed! I swear to God I'll hunt you three down, and make you suffer worse than what you did to my Rob!" Ruth hollered furiously at them, presumably right after she got a closer look at Black Rob's injuries.

Arnold simply smiled slyly on Ruth's threats.

"I don't think so." He then turned to Gerald who was inside the car. "Hit it, Gerald."

Black Rob's deep voice blared from their SUV's sound system, and through the empty streets, echoing through the alleys.

_"...he thinks that he can have me as his bannerman? Or should I say, his lapdog? He thinks I could be his pawn in expanding his market? For all I know, he will be kicking me out to the curb once he had no more use for me. Fat chance I would let that happen..."_

Gerald stopped the recording, and Ruth and the rest of Black Rob's gang stood flabbergasted upon hearing the recording of their boss's voice.

"I wonder what Gammelthrope would do once he hears that his new bannerman is plotting against him. Last time I checked, he does not take betrayals kindly," Arnold said to Ruth, who was now seething with fury. It now dawned to Lila. The emerald brooch she received from them was not only an emergency transmitter, but a recording bug as well. She grinned at Arnold for his final sly move, pulling an ace off his sleeve just in the right moment. She wondered how the redhead on the other side would counter this move.

Ruth could only seethe as hard as she could, but she could not do anything but to accept defeat at this moment. If this recording reaches Gammelthorpe, they're done for. Not only he would dispose of Black Rob, but he would make sure that his retainers would have no means of getting revenge, either by utterly destroying their resources or by simply eliminating them. And Gammelthorpe's methods of _eliminating_ anyone who wronged him were infamous in the Hillwood Underworld.

Ruth could only shudder on the thought of how they might end up should Gammelthorpe learns Black Rob's plot.

_**PHOOM! PHOOM! PHOOM!**_

"Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!" she screamed hysterically, firing her shotgun in the air. Joey and Torvald tried to restrain her and take her shotgun away from her, while Park and Justin just watched her dumbly, as if dazed by the turn of events.

"That's our cue! Lila, get in!" Arnold said to Lila. The redhead slipped into the SUV and settled in the back passenger seat. Arnold reached for the glove compartment in the front for a small metallic canister with a safety pin on.

"Thank you, Stinky," Arnold said as he pulled the safety pin off, and hurled the canister as hard as he could to Ruth's direction.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Arnold hollered as loud as he could. The metallic canister bounced off the Mercedes-Benz, and landed on the pavement beside the car.

Joey caught the glimpse of the metallic canister as it rolled on to the pavement. His eyes widened, recognizing what that object was, he turned to his gang, "GRENADE! GET DOWN!"

The whole gang got down on the ground, bracing themselves for an explosion.

_**VHOOOM!**_

A thick gray cloud of noxious cloud of smoke began to cover then after the explosion. They all began to to cough violently as they inhaled some of the smoke. They can't even open their eyes, as the smoke felt like acid being poured directly to their eyes. Joey now realized what the canister was: tear gas. He thought it was a fragmentation grenade. If he only knew, he could have rushed to it, and threw it back to Arnold, instead of lying in here, immobilized by the smoke.

Amid the coughing and the noxious smoke, Joey heard the car engine from the other side rev, its tires screeching as it struggled to accelerate and get away as fast as it could with one of its tires blown up. As the smoke cleared, they somewhat regained their senses, picked up their weapons, and looked for their opponents.

All they saw was the empty tear gas canister spurting its last store of gas in thin mists, tire skid marks leading away from the sidewalk to where their SUV crashed, and the water from the fire hydrant which the SUV had knocked down slowly dying down.

They're gone. A clean getaway.


	22. Interlude: Voodoo

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, its characters and setting, and the song "Voodoo" by Godsmack to which this chapter is named after.**

**A/N: Another interlude chapter. You probably know how this goes... Dialogues in bold typeface are in Japanese.**

**Interlude: Voodoo**

Hiroshi should have known better than to have filched from the clan's "protection money", which was collected from their "vassals" (what they call the businesses within their turf) in exchange for the clan's protection, to feed his worsening cocaine habit. He knew that if discovered, the consequences would be dire. He reasoned that it was just a few hundred dollars, just to satisfy his craving for that night. He happened to run out of cash at that time, and with thousands of dollars flowing into clan's treasury everyday, _oni-san_ wouldn't miss a few paltry hundred dollars.

But how wrong he was. As Ichimonji put it sternly, it's not the amount, it's the _principle_. The treasury of the clan belonged not to _oni-san, _but to the whole clan itself, and to steal from it, no matter how large or small the sum was, was to betray the clan's trust. And there's no graver offense one could commit against the clan than _betrayal_.

The clan was summoned, and a court was held in the courtyard in the Ichimonji estate in Zephyr Rose Fields, an affluent gated community in East Hillwood where the who's who in the city's eastern district resides. Just like Hillwood Heights, its counterpart in the opposite side of the city, each mansion boasts and announces the status of its owner by showing off its opulence and grandeur. But Ichimonji decided to take a traditional approach by styling his mansion after the magnificent castles of the _daimyos _(feudal lords) of Japan's Tokugawa Period. Although it follows the standards of modern architecture, it keeps the traditional Tokugawa era feel with its slanting terra cotta pagoda roof with dragon and snake statues adorning the corners. Within the traditional gate was a zen garden complete with a cherry tree imported from Japan, a rock garden, a koi pond, and a small pagoda shrine for meditation.

The "bannermen" (underbosses) and their retainers made their way into the courtyard, where they were greeted by the white-haired yet eagle-faced Mamoru, Ichimonji's elderly butler, who conducted them within the premises. This was not just an ordinary meeting, but a formal court that their "liege lord" summoned them to attend. They have to undergo various rituals and submit to protocols dictated by tradition. Mamoru escorted each bannerman together with their entourage to the shrine, where they would pay their respects to the past lords of the clan by lighting incense sticks and bowing three times. From there, they would be escorted to the waiting room, where they will ritually cleanse themselves by washing their hands and face with a basin, and sit on a _tatami_ (straw carpet) where they will be served tea and refreshments while waiting for their turn to be called by Takeshi, who acted as Ichimonji's steward for tonight's court, and have a private audience with their liege lord, where they will pay their tributes and respects, air their grievances, try flatter him with empty praises, and finally ask for favors from him.

But tonight, Ichimonji decided that this court would be different. Instead of having a private audience with each of his bannermen, he decided to entertain them all, giving them their turn to speak, pay their tribute and respect, and give him flattering praises and grovel to him for favors afterwards in full view of everybody. Ichimonji loved to see his bannermen try to outdo each other in order to gain his favor. It's like watching rats scamper, claw and tear each other apart for a morsel of bread he throws in their way, he thought.

This is what power is like.

The court formally opened, Ichimonji and his council seated in front, him in the middle. It looked awkward to see Japanese gangsters in modern expensive suits still subscribe to century-old feudal traditions and protocols. But this was serious business for them. Tradition is tradition, and it must be respected.

Each bannerman stood when their turn was called, starting off with a formal greeting, then a word of praise, all in high-brow Nihonggo. Then they would present him their tribute, a gift or token of their allegiance to their liege lord. Satoshi, the thin, frail-looking man who handled the clan's whorehouses and strip clubs at Eastwood, a seedy part of East Hillwood, presented a golden Rolex watch to him, much to the chagrin of the other bannermen, who wished they had brought something more expensive to top it off. Hideki, the one who handled their gambling dens, presented a bottle of the expensive French wine to him, which caused whispers among those present of how disrespectful for someone who earns much from all the illegal gambling to present a paltry gift to his liege lord. Ichimonji did not take affront of such gift, and thanked him for his present. Tetsuo, the one who handled the clan's smuggling and loan-sharking business, presented him a new set of finely spun and expensive kimono, which Ichimonji accepted graciously. Afterwards, the fat Tetsuo dared to ask his lord a favor of providing him additional armaments in order "to protect the clan's resources from would-be encroachers". There was a collective gasp by those who were present by this fat man's audacity. He earns more than enough in his loan-sharking and smuggling, why can't he procure the weapons himself and have to ask his lord for it? Ichimonji looked at him gravely, and said that he will consider his request before dismissing him.

More bannermen were called, each with their own gifts, each with their own set of flowery flattery (which Ichimonji loathes, but never bothered to make it obvious), each with their grievances and favors to ask of him, some to which Ichimonji listened to intently, some he simply ignored and politely waved off.

Then came Hiro's turn, the man who handled the clan's drug business who was a bit older then Takeshi. With the customary formal greeting done and over with, he came with an unusual request: he was asking his liege lord to deliver his justice on the offender he caught filching the clan's funds to feed his drug habit. This roused Ichimonji's interest.

Finally, a chance to demonstrate his power over the clan.

Ichimonji stood up, and made a speech about the importance of loyalty to the clan, and any betrayal, big or small, shall not be taken lightly. He meant to make an example out of this nervous-looking man, who tearfully begged for mercy.

It is then Ichimonji called for his sword. Takeshi came bearing his symbol of power: a four-foot long _nodachi _(long sword), which Ichimonji swung around as if it weighed nothing. His men held the hysterical Hiroshi down, and held out his right hand.

He could have easily commanded one of his men or bannermen to do the deed for him. But he operates on a single principle that his predecessor had taught him: he who passes the sentence _must_ swing the sword.

_**SWOOOOOOSH!**_

With a quick precise swing, off came Hiroshi's little finger, leaving a small bloody stump in it place. Hiroshi was howling in pain, holding his severed finger. Ichimonji just looked at him coldly as he wiped the blood off the blade of his long sword with a napkin before putting it back in its _saya_ (scabbard). He motioned his men to drag the screaming man away from the premises. He then explained to the clan the "virtue" of the "justice" delivered: when a member of a clan commits transgressions against it, they cut off a finger of his sword-wielding hand, starting with a little finger. This weakens the grip of that person to his sword, and would mean he has to depend more to the clan for protection. Ichimonji exhorted those who were present to remain loyal to the clan, for the clan was their family, and such loyalty would reap rewards and the protection of the clan. Everyone agreed and seconded his exhortations (or appeared to be, Ichimonji being aware what kind of sycophants his bannermen were), and cheered for the glory of the clan, and the glory of their liege lord. Ichimonji watched his bannerman and their retainers contently. The Yamaguchi-gumi clan is stronger than ever, stronger than what the former Yakuza lord, Shingen Takeda, had seen the in his day, until they day of Shinoda's infamous betrayal...

Finally, the court was brought into its end, and Takeshi called the dismissal of all the bannermen and their retainers. After they simultaneously stood up, bowed, and thanked the "liege lord for the honor of summoning them to the audience, and for providing the clan with his benevolent leadership." And then they dispersed, whispering amongst themselves, plotting against each other in order to advance themselves in Ichimonji's , some dared to whisper against their liege lord, but was quickly hushed by others who have heard it. Ichimonji has ears everywhere within his house, and he does not take any hint of betrayal nicely.

Ichimonji and his inner circle left the Great Hall, and after a few words with them, he then dismissed them. Saburo Ichimonji decided to retire to his chambers. His young assistant, Takeshi, was with him as they made their way through the winding hallways, bearing his _nodachi._

**"Oni-san, I have news for you," **he said as they made the turn around the corner.

**"Speak, Takeshi-kun."**

**"We're able to locate the 'traitor's dog'. He is being harbored by a local crook in Greensburg who runs a protection racket." **

**"Is that so?"** Ichimonji broke a slight smile. **"Then you know what to do. Take him out, like a dog that he was." **

**"As you wish, Oni-san. I will then contact **_**her**_** to do the deed for us."**

**"**_**Her**_**?"** Ichimonji raised his one eyebrow slightly. **"Why use **_**her?**_** Do we have a shortage of contract killers and assassins that we have to contact someone else?"**

**"To ease the burden from us, Oni-san. If we 'outsource' this job, they would not trace this back to us if something goes wrong. That dog is deep within West Hillwood, not to mention under the protection of the local mobster. Any activities that could be traced back to us might be taken an act of of war."**

Ichimonji nodded upon hearing his explanation.

**"Very well. I trust your better judgement on this matter. Do what you must to take out this dog, Takeshi-kun."**

**"Yes, Oni-san. But we have a little complication on this matter."**

**"Hmm?"**

**"Two bounty hunters from West Hillwood seemed to have tracked him down as well. They are seeking out the dog for their own ends, I assume."**

Ichimonji laughed a bit upon hearing this.

**"My child, you trifle yourself with such trivial matters. You know the best way to deal with such 'complication'. If they get in the way, take them out as well. No one laments the loss of a bounty hunter anyway."**

**"Very well, Oni-san. It shall be done." **Takeshi acknowledged as they made their way into Ichimonji's private chambers.

**+-=Noir=-+ +-=Noir=-+ +-=Noir=-+ **

"So are we clear with the details?" Takeshi asked African-American woman across him, who was gazing at the photos laid on the table as she blew smoke on it, creating a mist between between him and the handsome young Japanese man. The waitress returned with two cups of coffee he ordered for the two of them. He agreed to meet with her at Starbucks in the downtown Hillwood to discuss the details of their "contract".

"Take your time to look at your target, Miss Taylor," he said as she gazed on the infamous contract killer, Morgan Taylor. He knew that she was one of the most sought after assassin in the whole Hillwood underworld. Her ability to stage a perfect assassination that leaves little or no traces, and her superb ability to change her appearance and persona to perfectly fit her current assassination job made her a perfect assassin. They say that the infamous Morgan Taylor has no permanent appearance. True, for the last time Takeshi contacted her, she's a cocktail waitress with blonde streaks on her wavy hair. Now, she was typical soccer mom with her hair tied in a messy bun.

Morgan took the mugshot of a man with a ragged curly hair. She took her pen, and lazily encircled his face. She took a hard look at his face, until his every smallest feature were imprinted into her memory.

"He's Stavros, and he is your target. You can find the details of his location in the envelop. As what your contract says, you have two weeks to eliminate him-"

"One week," she interrupted nonchalantly.

"Excuse me?"

"One week is all I need," she replied in her cold, unemotional voice.

"Oh, okay then," Takeshi said, taken aback by the assassin's reply. "Well, if you could do the job in a week, that's very good then! And as we agreed, the deposit would be wire transferred to your account today, and the rest will be after you have eliminated Stavros."

"Good," she replied.

"And yeah, you might encounter problems with these two guys," he handed her two more photos. One was a photograph of a white guy with a messy blonde hair leaving a convenience store. The other was a photograph of an African-American man with buzz cut hair smoking in front of a liquor store.

"These are the bounty hunters who were after Stavros as well. How you would deal with them is your discretion. Your priority is the elimination of Stavros. If this two ever gets in your way, take them out as well," Takeshi explained.

A slight smile broke across Morgan's lips, and she then took all the photos and placed them inside the manila envelop. She looked at Takeshi and smiled.

"Consider this done."

**+-=Noir=-+ +-=Noir=-+ +-=Noir=-+**

She lied wide awake on their bed. She turned to the digital clock on the bedside table. It's 2:30 AM. She had been lying on here for hours, and sleep seemed to be so distant, constantly evading her everytime she felt close into slipping into the dreamworld.

She felt stuffy in here. She must breathe. She carefully removed the arm wrapped around her, and slipped off the bed. She headed near the window, and sat on the chair with her legs crossed, lit a cigarette, and took in a deep draft before blowing out the smoke, watching it dissipate in the air.

Her eyes fluttered open when she felt her arms empty. She groped around the bed for a petite body she had held since the start of this evening, and in the many evenings before. She then found her, recognizing her naked petite body being illuminated by the silvery moonlight spilling from the window outside. She threw off the sheets covering her tall lanky naked body and sat up on the bed, leaning against the bedhead.

"Can't sleep?"

The petite woman simply replied with a snort, exhaling the noxious smoke from her lungs.

"Are you sure about this? It's been just months after the funeral. It might be just to dangerous to make a move now," the tall lady asked her.

The petite lady stood up and walked closer to the window. The pale moonlight coming from the outside bathed her naked petite back, revealing her enormous dragon tattoo that covered most of her back. It was an oriental dragon coiled around an ancient Chinese pagoda or tower, masterfully executed in ink with her whole back as the canvas. The dragon's scales seemed more alive as the moonlight gleamed on it, fire and smoke spouting from its mouth and nostrils would've leapt from her back and set fire to this room.

"A few months of death is enough. They had let their guard down enough. We can now strike back and see the end of this path," she replied.

"So you wish to end your chosen path so soon?" the tall lady asked, stroking the golden whisps of hair that framed her face.

"This is not a pleasant path to tread upon, yet I must travel this...there is no turning back..."

"We are not turning back...we are just biding our time. We can't be careless just like the last time. Such mistakes and hesitation would cause your early demise," the tall lady rebutted.

"I would not hesitate to shed blood this time around! My soul had been hardened and tempered by my desire for vengeance, and my resolve had never burned inside me as intense as before," she snapped back, turning at her. There she was, standing near her, her tall, lanky naked body towering her.

"And yet that desire and resolve is what will get you killed," the tall lady said, smiling at the petite woman mockingly. "Such feistiness, such desire...you better learn to temper it if you want to live long enough to see your path's end."

"I don't need a lecture on temperance," she snapped back. "Especially coming from a woman who eliminated her competition..."

"Hush...you're talk in nothings," the tall lady quickly retorted. "You are comparing oranges to lemons."

"So what makes you an authority to speak about temperance then?" the petite woman said, returning the same mocking smile.

"You got me there," the tall lady said, laughing. The petite woman joined her in her laughter, their naked breasts jiggling as they laughed shrilly.

"I have something for you," the tall lady said as she reached for an elongated suitcase standing near the bed, leaning on the bedside table. She opened it, revealing an elegant sniper rifle with a lacquered wooden stock, with a Cyrillic numeral "3" painted on the end of the stock.

A Soviet-era Dragunov SVD sniper rifle. A beauty in its own right.

The petite lady frowned upon seeing the rifle. She closed the suitcase, and laid it on the nearby table.

"You always knew that I always preferred swords and blades over guns," she remarked as she put away the rifle.

"Time's a changing. You can't always bring a sword in a gunfight, my dear," the tall lady said, drawing closer to the petite woman.

"Maybe, but nothing would bring me more satisfaction than to run them through with my own blade," she said resolutely, her eyes burning with fervor.

The tall lady embraced her, locking her in her arms, and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead, "And I am always with you, my dear, until we both see the end of your chosen path."

And their naked bodies locked together under the pale moonlight.


	23. Act 18: Ava Adore

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, its characters and setting, and the song "Ava Adore" by Smashing Pumpkins to which this chapter is named after.**

**Act 17: Ava Adore**

The rain had just fell, and the pavement appeared like cans of neon paint had been spilled on it as lights from streetlights and flickering signboards reflected upon it. Steam rose out of the manholes and the drainage holes at the sidewalk. Now that the rain had stopped, the streets came back to life. The homeless emerged from their makeshift shelters made of patched wood and iron sheets, and set to rekindle the garbage cans to serve as their fireplace to warm their tired, worn bodies. Scantily clad women emerged from the shadows and went back to their usual haunts along the streets, plying their trade, offering their wares to passing cars and men who were desperate for a carnal release for this night. Two shady men transacted in whispers near the corner, quickly slipping a packet and a roll of bills to each others pockets, and then a quick handshake, a quick scan around the area, and then they swiftly parted ways. Transaction complete.

In this bad part of Greensburg, one of Hillwood's inner city districts, the economy was alive and well. Street merchants plied trade in the dark street corners, whores turning tricks inside cheap, dilapidated motels for a few bills or a hit of crack, frightened passers-by trading their valuables such as cash, gadgets, and jewelry for their lives to desperate muggers, who in turn would spend their earnings for a hit of their favorite substance at street merchants, who would in turn indulge themselves in their carnal desires with whores. Such was the cycle of economy in Greensburg. The circle of cash, drugs, and whores.

Along the sidewalk, an African-American woman stood among the whores, carrying a guitar case slung on her back. Quite unusual for whores like her, who were contented in simply carrying a small purse where they stow their condoms and their earnings for their services. She was wearing the same skimpy outfit that other prostitutes wore to help them advertise their "goods", or in cases of those who had seen better days, broken goods. She chose a black close-fitting black tube top that barely covered her rich breasts, micromini skirt, fishnet stockings, and five-inch stiletto-heeled pumps. Her chocolate brown skin shimmered in the flickering streetlights.

She stood out among the "veterans of the thousand nights", being the youngest, and the perhaps the loveliest compared to other "seasoned" women plying their trade on that street. Soon enough, cars pulled over, stopping at her, and sex-hungry men began enticing her with generous offers. She simply smiled and turned them down one by one. The men simply drove off, ignoring the other whores who were hailing them, inviting them to see what they have to offer.

The other women looked at her both in disdain and envy. How could this new young hooker have the audacity to turn down customers who were begging to be with her tonight, while they have to literally run after cars, scream, and even have to striptease just to lure them in? Perhaps she's a new face in these streets, and the customers often wanted novelty, tired of the same old faces they saw, and cunts they have fucked. They shook their heads. They have to step their game up. Competition is the essence of capitalism.

After turning down her last customer and watching him drive away, the new whore spotted the car she had been looking for the night. A red Mustang. That's the one. A smile broke across her lips, and positioned herself on the spot where she knew the driver of the red Mustang would spot her easily among the whores on that street. Sure enough, that car pulled over and stopped right in front of her. She bent down as the driver rolled down the window at the passenger seat, and smiled seductively at him. He's in his late thirties, wearing well-pressed shirt and tie, horn-rimmed round glasses, his hair thinning and hairline receding. A common fat sexually frustrated white-collar guy. He leered at her, ogling at her rich breasts she provocatively "advertised" as she bent down the window.

"Hey baby, looking for a good time?" she asked him in a sultry voice.

"What do you got for me?" he asked back, grinning at him.

"Twenty for a blowjob, and an eighty will take you for a pretty wild ride, sugar," she smiled impishly, and then winked at him.

His eyes widened for a bit upon hearing this girl's "price list". Eighty bucks to fuck this young brown-skinned goddess? Whoa, he must have hit paydirt today. Eighty bucks would only afford him a measly blowjob from a decent college callgirl, or a half-hearted fuck from an ugly crack whore from these streets. A girl of this caliber would fetch a couple of hundred dollars at least. The god of whoremongers must have smiled upon him today for such a good catch.

He smiled back, "What's your name?"

"Jacqueline."

"Jacqueline," he repeated. She nodded. "Very well, hop in, sweetie." He then unlocked the passenger door. She slid in into the door and settled on the passenger seat, cradling the guitar case between her thighs.

"What's with the guitar case?" he asked her.

"I do a part-time gig at an acoustic bar down Capricorn."

"Really, which one?"

"Hydra."

"Yeah, I know that one. I got a rented room at Ever Hotel down at Lincoln Drive. Say we head there and show me what you got." He smirked at her suggestively.

"Sounds like a plan," she concurred, smirking back at him.

As they drove off to the direction of the said hotel, both of them grinned at the same time, both with the same thing in mind.

_"Jackpot."_

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- **

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Okay, go!"

Arnold bolted right away upon Gerald's cue, running at full speed towards his best friend. Gerald stood right there, crouching, his hands held out, ready to give his best friend a boost to reach their objective.

"Hyah!" Arnold leapt out and landed on Gerald's hands, who in turn threw him with all his might upwards to boost his jump in order to reach the rusty fire escape of the building they wanted to infiltrate. According to the info they squeezed out from Black Rob during his drugged state, this was the exact building where their bounty head, Stavros, was hiding. They decided to take the fire escape in order to attract less attention this time around.

Arnold caught one of the rungs of the rusty fire escape ladder hanging twelve feet above them. He hanged in there for a second before he pulled himself up on the ladder, and then climbed up to the fire exit. He finally reached the first level of the exit. He looked down, and whistled at Gerald, who was was watching him from below. He then kicked the fire exit ladder, which had been rusted and stuck after years of disuse . After two or three kicks, the ladder finally came loose and slid downwards. Gerald climbed up the ladder and joined his bestfriend on the fire exit.

After a week of surveillance, they came out with a plan of attack. Instead of coming through the front, blowing up his door with plastic explosives, and go barging in guns a-blazin', they were to sneak into Stavros' window by the fire escape, shoot him with a tranquilizer dart to knock him out, stealthily spirit him out of the building, and board onto their car (which they recently got repaired after the chase and shootout with Black Rob's gang) parked in the alley beside the apartment building, and take him to their hideout. Once he regained his senses, they will squeeze out info from him about Kyo Heyerdahl's murder, this time employing "gentler" interrogation methods, before turning him over to the cops and collecting their bounty check.

Hopefully, nothing _fucks up_ this time around.

The bounty hunters checked their gear one more time before heading to the upper levels of the fire escape. They brought single-shot tranquilizer handguns, so they can't afford to miss their shot. They got Glock 17 fully loaded with live ammunition holstered on their waist just in case things things get messy and they need to use lethal force. They decided not to wear their bulky riot gear, unlike their last raid months ago. After all, stealth was the name of the game, and they need to be as light as possible.

Each level of the fire escape was wide enough for two persons to stand side by side, and long enough to reach the windows of the two apartment units facing each other. Stavros' apartment was on the fifth floor, the one the side nearest to the street. They made their way to the fifth floor stealthily, slowly walking through the levels to minimize the noise their footsteps were making against the creaky, rusty fire escape. Finally, they reached the fifth flow, and positioned themselved below Stavros' window, their tranquilizer guns drawn out.

_"Here goes a week's worth of surveillance and planning,"_ Arnold thought as heleaned against the wall below the window of their target.

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

He was lying peacefully on the bed, his mouth half open, naked with nothing but sheets to cover his body. He was deep in slumber, his consciousness has sunk deep into the abyss of dreamland, even beyond the realm of dreams. Babies didn't sleep this well, but he did. It will be a while before he wakes up and realizes everything that went on while he was deep in his sleep, that is, _if he ever wakes up_.

On the bedside table was a bloodied syringe that she used to stealthily inject copious amounts of heroin into him while she was performing the sexual act she was originally hired for. The amount of heroin injected was enough to knock out a fully grown bear. If he never wakes up, the hotel staff would later find his body in his hotel room in the morning in his supposed check-out time, and the police would simply chalk up his death to heroin overdose, which is not an uncommon case in this bad part of Hillwood. He would be just another statistic in the rising number of drug-related deaths. Case closed. If by some miracle he was able to stave off the effects of heroin and wakes up, she would had been long gone away. He would remember nothing and would think everything was just a bad dream, and would go on with his boring normal life.

Morgan Taylor never leaves any trace of evidence. Her _every_ assignment is a perfect one.

She slips in her underwear and the oversized black t-shirt she brought to ward of the night chill. She took her guitar case and opened it, revealing an normal-looking acoustic guitar inside. She pressed a hidden button on its side, and with a click the guitar opened, revealing a hidden compartment inside containing a long gun barrel, a wooden stock, a gun chamber mechanism, a spring, a fully loaded clip, a large Zeiss sniper scope, and a set of aluminium tubing. She first took out the aluminium tubing set, and assembled it as a tripod beside the window facing the dingy apartment where her intended target lives. After assembling the tripod she took out the gun parts, and gingerly assembled it in a sequence she had long memorized since she started her career first as a bounty hunter. Soon, the pieces of seemingly useless scraps of metal slowly took the shape of a sniper rifle. With the sniper scope now firmly lock in its place, she slipped in the fully loaded clip and chambered the first round. M14A1 rifle, semi-automatic, fires .45 NATO rounds, effective range up 500 meters, but could be longer depending on the marksmanship skill of the user. Her weapon of choice for tonight's assignment.

She mounted her sniper rifle on the tripod and aimed it on th dingy apartment. She took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep draft of smoke from it. Afterwards, she stuck it on the window and watched the direction to which the smoke drifted to. Mild breeze blowing to westerly direction. Making mental calculations, she adjusted the sights of the scope to compensate for the bullet drop and prevailing winds. She then adjusted the magnification of the scope, and aimed for a window on the fifth floor of the apartment building. All she needs to do now was wait for his target to pop out his head on the window when he takes a smoke after waking up in this hour of the early morning to take a swig of his booze from his fridge. Few days of surveillance revealed that he does this regularly every single day, as regular as a clockwork.

Now, the waiting game begins.

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

Gerald took out a small mirror from his pocket, and used it to to survey the interior of the apartment they were about to raid. He held it out, and studied the reflection on it. The window leads to a kitchen. A square table on the middle, a sink filled with dirty, unwashed dishes to the left, an old fridge to the right, and counter below the cupboards where the coffee maker, toaster, and microwave was placed beyond the table. Everything seems normal. _Too normal_ for comfort.

Gerald looked for signs of any booby traps placed in order to ward off any would-be intruders. It was too dark to see if there were any tripwires or anything lying on the floor.

He strained his sight to see any minute details that might be out of place, but he could not see any. He tilted the mirror left and right to see if the window that they were about to go through was rigged with traps.

"Clear?" Arnold whispered to him.

He gave him a half-hearted nod, unsure whether it is safe to rule out any booby traps in this room.

Arnold slowly stood up, and gingerly pried open the window. He carefully lifted the pane up, careful not to make any noise. After opening the window, he carefully slipped through, and crouched near it, his tranquilizer gun drawn, straining his hearing for any sign that their entry might have stirred Stavros from his sleep as Gerald made his way carefully though the open window. Both of the bounty hunters made it inside. They crouched low and stayed like that for a few minutes, listening for any slightest noise or sign that Stavros might have been alerted of their presence.

Not a single sound, except for the soft whirring of the cold night breeze outside.

Arnold made a signal for Gerald that he was going forward and take point. Gerald nodded reluctantly. Something _was definitely_ wrong, he thought. His experience back in Afghanistan during their raids in suspected terrorist hideouts told him that if everything seemed too normal, there was definitely something _not good_ afoot.

His eyes fell unconsciously on a clear line that ran across the kitchen floating an inch above the floor. How come he didn't see that before? Perhaps the darkness and the angle of the light made it impossible to see from outside the window. His eyes widened as Arnold advanced from his position and was about to step on the clear line.

"Arnold, don't...!" he barked out in a hushed tone.

"What...?!" he looked back at his bestfriend as he stepped his right foot forward, snagging the clear line with his boot. And audible click was heard as his boot caught the line. Gerald tried to lunge forward to stop Arnold from moving forward.

Too late.

Before Gerald and Arnold could even react, a blinding white light and deafening explosion filled the kitchen.

_"Fuck..."_


	24. Act 19: Atomica

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, and its characters and settings, and the song "Atomica" by Wolfgang to which this chapter is named after.**

**A/N: After almost two months of hiatus due to writer's block, and work-related and personal stuff, Hillwood Noir is finally back. Read and review, please. :) **

**Act 19: Atomica**

"Fuck."

This was all what Arnold has said when he realized he had stepped on a trip wire and triggered a booby trap. He heard a distinct click when his boot snagged the line, and a blinding light and a deafening explosion followed.

His sight and hearing shut down all at once. All he could see was a bright white flash, and all he could hear was a high-pitched sound playing on repeat. He fell on his knees and on his sides, and crumpled into a fetal position. He felt that the floor beneath him was spinning sideways. He opened his mouth to shout, scream, groan but he couldn't even hear his own voice.

Blind and deaf to the world.

Gerald, by reflex, turned away a split second before the explosion. He immediately knew what the booby trap was made of: a flashbang rigged to a tripwire. Good thing it wasn't a frag grenade or a Claymore mine, or else they would have hundred of shrapnels buried into their charred bodies right now. He was blinded as well, and he could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing sound in his ears, but the effect was lesser compared to that of Arnold's, who took the blinding flash and deafening explosion head-on.

It took a few minutes, which seemed like hours, before Gerald could regain his bearings. His ears were still ringing with that high-pitched sound, and his vision was still fuzzy. What he could see were just murky shadows dancing around in front of him. He rubbed his watery eyes to get a clearer image. He then saw a lanky man pointing a shotgun to another man lying on the floor. The lanky man gave the downed man a swift kick to his side, which caused him to crumple into a fetal position. Gerald immediate recognized who the man lying on the floor as.

_"Arnold.."_

_**THOOM!**_

He quickly launched himself and fiercely tackled the lanky man, slamming him against the wall. The man was caught off-guard, took the full impact, and let go of the shotgun as he slammed against the wall as the black ex-Marine launched his full weight against him.

_**PHOOM!**_

The shotgun discharged the shell loaded in it as it hit the floor hard. Luckily, the muzzle was pointing away from them and the lead shots hit the wall opposite them. Gerald struggled to overpower the lanky man as they wrestled on the floor. When he finally got on him, he raised his fists to deal him quick blows to knock him out.

_**THUGZH! THUGZH!**_

His fists landed heavily on his jaws. Gerald raised his right fist to gain enough momentum to land a finishing blow that will knock the lanky man out when...

_**THUMZH!**_

...a surprise blow landed on to his jaw, knocking him off above him. Gerald reeled on the floor, but regained his senses a few seconds afterwards. When he looked up, she saw a shotgun barrel staring right at him.

_"No."_

_**CLICK!**_

"Drop it." A voice behind lanky man pointing the shotgun at Gerald snarled. He turned to see a man with a messy blond hair aiming a handgun right at his head. Arnold. He was able to shake off the effects of the flashbang and somewhat regain his senses.

"I said drop it."

The lanky man hesitated for a moment, but then complied with Arnold's command when he prodded the muzzle of his handgun on the back of the lanky man's head. He dropped his shotgun on the floor.

"Okay. Kick it as far as you..."

The lanky man suddenly spinned around, grabbing something from inside his ragged coat. Arnold, both surprised and not intending to shoot him down, just shoved him forward with his handgun, causing him to fall on his back and crash on the floor.

_**CLICK!**_

The lanky man held out a small contraption with a push-button to Arnold as he kept the muzzle of his handgun pointed at him. This handgun was the one with live ammos, not the one with tranquilizer darts. He could not just fire indiscriminately. He was their target. He's the elusive Stavros, _the cop killer_. He was their _bounty-head_.

"Back off! You know what this is!?" He warned Arnold, holding out his contraption against his handgun. Arnold did not answer, keeping his gun aimed at their bountyhead.

"_A detonator?_" Gerald thought as he stared at the device Stavros was holding out. He's holding his jaw, still sore from the sucker punch he got from him.

"If one of you _motherfuckers _darelay a finger on me, a press of this button and this whole place goes _kaboom! _I got this whole damned place wired!" he threatened, shaking the detonator at Arnold, who still got his weapon aimed dead straight at him.

"_He's bluffing," _Gerald immediately thought. He decided it was best at this moment to play along with him, rather than to take a risk and call his bluff.

"This is a dead man's switch! That means if I let go of this, then they'll be picking the scattered pieces of you within this city block! Now, put the gun down!"

Arnold did not move nor flinch. He still got the muzzle of his handgun pointed straight at Stavros' head, ignoring his threats.

"Put the _fucking_ gun down! I mean business! I got nothing to lose!"

This time, Arnold turned at Gerald, who simply nodded at him, signalling his best friend to play along with Stavros threats. Arnold reluctantly stooped down, laying handgun flat on the floor.

"Both of you, hands up! Hold them up where I can see them! NOW!"

They slowly raised their hands, and backed away from him.

"Yeah, that's right, back off! Or we'll all be blown to smithereens here! Now tell me, did that fat bastard Ichimonji sent you _fuckers_ to do me in?!"

"Huh?" Arnold gave him a puzzled look.

"So he's the one who sent you?!"

"No one sent us here. We're..." Gerald trailed off, giving Arnold an awkward glance.

"You're _what_?!" Stavros hollered at them.

"Bounty hunters," Arnold picked up where Gerald left off. "We're here to get you and collect the bounty placed for your head."

_"Goddammit, Arnold!" _Gerald cursed through his teeth, shooting a glare at his best friend.

"_What?! Did I say anything wrong?!" _Arnold replied with a similar glare.

"I'm not buying it," Stavros declared. "Bounty-hunters, assassins, you fuckers are all the same! All of you are under the payroll of that fathead Ichimonji!"

"For the last time, we barely knew who Ichimonji was, let alone being under his payroll!" Arnold shot back, rolling his eyes, obviously getting annoyed by him.

"That fathead would stop at nothing to settle his old grudges. After he got rid of Shinoda, drove that bitch Rosalinde crazy, and probably drove their daughter crazy enough to jump off the building , he'll be going after me! He will stop at nothing to erase every trace of that snake Shinoda off the face of the Earth!" Stavros went on, his voice shaky with anger and fear.

_"He's rambling. He's not making any sense. This is not going anywhere. This has to stop," _Arnold thought, trying to formulate a plan to take down their bounty-head, safely yank the detonator out of his hands and disarm it, and knock him cold so that they could interrogate him about his knowledge on Kyo Heyerdahl's murder, and later turn him over to the cops and collect their bounty. He has to wait for a moment that he would be off-guard, and then jump at him to take him down.

_"Daughter? Jumped off the building?" _Gerald thought, trying to make sense out of Stavros' ramblings. These words suddenly rang a bell inside his head, but the situation they're in right now prevented him from processing the information further. They have to resolve this first before things get ugly.

"Now how you fuckers found out I was hiding in here?!" he asked, holding out the detonator threateningly. "Did that dickhead Black Rob sold me off?!"

"Actually, _he did tell_..." Arnold replied as calmly as he could, their debacle with Black Rob still fresh in his head.

"That son of a bitch!" he roared. "I knew that greedy motherfucker can't be trusted! I pay him top money every month just to keep my ass safe from the likes of you!"

He then backed off from them, still holding out the detonator, and felt for his shotgun on the floor with his foot. He stooped down to pick it up, and aimed it at them.

"I'm gonna cancel my service with that useless son of a bitch first thing in the morning tomorrow. But first," he balanced the stock of his shotgun against his hip and aimed the muzzle to them, the detonator still in his other hand. "Beat it, or eat hot lead."

The bounty hunters looked at each other, and as if telepathically able to come up with a plan to quickly resolve this situation: one has to go for the detonator, and the other has to go for the shotgun. With those two out of the way, they could take him down and make a clean getaway. They nodded at each other, and counted down in their heads for the cue to execute their plan.

_In three..._

_Two..._

_One..._

_**PHOOM! CRASSSHHH! THUMMMZH!**_

As they were ready to lunge at him, Stavros suddenly dropped dead in front of them. A neat bullet hole was punched through the back of his head and and to his forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered in front of him as the bullet exited his skull. Stavros collapsed face-first on the floor, while Arnold and Gerald just stared at their now-dead bounty head in horror. Arnold looked at the window behind where Stavros stood earlier. There's a hole on the pane the size of a dime. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what just happened.

_"A sniper..."_

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

She peered through the sniper scope once more, admiring her "masterpiece": a perfect shot through the window and to her target's head, despite of the strong prevailing winds blowing that night. She rarely gets it right in a single shot at this distance and at this condition, and she would usually put her rifle on burst mode to increase the chance of hitting her target. But she managed to pull it off this time.

She smiled lightly in satisfaction. She got the window zeroed in to her sights, compensating for both the bullet drop and the prevailing wind. All she needs to do is to wait for that distinct silhouette, that shadow with a ragged, messy hair, to appear at the window, and then pull the trigger. One shot, one kill.

Another kill by the famed Morgan Taylor.

Satisfied with her work, she pulled the bolt to eject the spent casing. She promptly picked it up and stowed it inside her guitar case. She must not leave any evidences or traces of tonight's work. She then proceeded to dismantle the tripod to which her rifle was mounted upon, carefully storing the pieces inside the guitar. She then proceeded to dismantle her rifle and began storing the components inside the guitar as well. After that, she carefully locked the guitar, giving it an appearance of an ordinary guitar, and locked the case as well. She then got dressed, this time in a plain looking t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers instead of her skimpy outfit earlier. She picked up her guitar case and headed to the door. She turned to her "client", who was still lying on the bed and barely moving or breathing, and whispered softly before leaving the room:

_"Sweet dreams..."_

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

Arnold and Gerald was frozen in their places for minutes after Stavros have dropped dead. They then drew closer slowly at his body, and Gerald gingerly yanked the detonator off his hand, careful not to cause it to arm the explosives that might be hidden somewhere in the apartment. He then carefully inspected it, and then snickered a bit.

"He's bluffing, I knew it. This isn't a detonator, and I doubt if he got this whole place rigged with explosives," Gerald said, looking at the "detonator", and then tossed it.

"Good," Arnold sighed in relief. "But he's dead. Good thing his bounty is tagged as DOA."

"DOA?" Gerald asked.

"Dead or alive, Gerald. That means we get the bounty whether we capture him alive or we kill him," Arnold explained. "The bad news is whatever info he knows about Kyo Heyerdahl's murder case died with him. I wonder who did this."

Gerald sighed in despair, shaking his head. He knew that Stavros rambling about a certain Yakuza boss going after him isn't just a delusional bout. This was a proof of it. And what about him saying about "his daughter jumping off the building"? It sounds uncannily familiar, but he can't put his finger on it. And who the hell was Shinoda and Rosalinde he was rambling about earlier? Nothing made any sense.

Suddenly, something caught Gerald's eye. A small book with brown leather cover was neatly stuffed in one of Stavros pockets. He took it out, and skimmed through the pages. His eyes brightened as he went through from page to page.

"What is that, Gerald?" Arnold asked.

"His journal," he replied. "And I think the info about Kyo Heyerdahl's murder case _did not die_ with him."

Arnold flashed a knowing smile at him, "Very well, let's get out of here. We got lots of work to do."


	25. Act 20: Dissolved Girl

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, its characters and setting, and the song "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack to which this chapter was named after.**

**Act 20: Dissolved Girl**

Daigo Yotsuga was glad that this day was over. It had been _a long day_ after all. Being a key member of the Yakuza's council meant lengthy meetings, getting into heated arguments with other council members, and having his well-conceived ideas harshly rebuffed by Ichimonji who had the final say on the clan's affairs. The copious amounts of _sake_ (rice wine) being served during these supposedly serious and solemn meetings made the council members loud and rowdy. Ichimonji believed that people tend to be more open and honest when drunk, so he encouraged, no, _commanded_ his council members to drink freely during meetings. Occasionally, heated arguments would escalate into fisticuffs, and would later turn into a free-for-all, only to be broken up when Ichimonji unsheaths his four-foot _nodachi _(long sword) and sticks it to the wooden floor loudly. Daigo would only sigh in disgust everytime a fight would break out during these supposed-to-be dignified meetings. This was a far cry from the solemn and dignified council meetings held by Ichimonji's predecessor, which Yotsuga was a part of.

Today's meeting was relatively peaceful as no fight broke out. There was a heated argument though between two members who were obviously trying to ingratiate themselves with Ichimonji. What used to be the voices of reason and the guiding hand of the clan became a nest of sycophants and bootlickers wishing to advance themselves in the clan, he thought. They argued on what to do with the extra profits that their recent alliance with the Triad had brought to the clan. One suggested on investing it on their front company, Ichimonji Holdings, to give the clan more "legitimate sources of income". This idea was sneered upon by the another council member, calling him a "chickenshit fag". He suggested, instead, to strengthen their existing underground businesses, and stockpile arms in preparation for their expansion toward West Hillwood. The former did not take the insult lightly, and called the latter a "warmongering moron". What ensued was an exchange of personal insults. Yotsuga shook his head in disgust as the two bickered almost endlessly. And Ichimonji just sat there, in his usual satisfied grin as he watched two fling insults at each other like children in the playground, not doing anything to break up the fight. He seemed to take satisfaction seeing people grovel and ingratiate themselves with him. Council meetings became less and less about policy-making and more about ego-stroking.

Yotsuga was forced to intervene when he felt that the argument would lead to another fisticuffs spoke up that the bickering ended. Being a senior member of the council, he commanded respect among them. He explained the pros and cons of each ideas, and then advised the council as a whole to take a moderate approach in running the clan's silenced the two, and the meeting adjourned shortly.

Yotsuga left Ichimonji's mansion aboard his black Mitsubishi LAN Evo 7 driven by his bodyguard. He may be old, but never too old for high-end sports cars. He sat at the passenger seat at the back while his burly African-American bodyguard drives his car for him. He turned to Yotsuga.

"Where to, sir?" he asked.

"Anywhere...I really need a drink..." Yotsuga sighed, running his fingers through his graying hair. "Where do you suggest?"

"Elysium, sir. I couldn't think of any better place."

Yotsuga smiled a bit, "Sounds like a plan." After all, Elysium have been a relatively neutral place where underworld figures from West and East Hillwood could hang out without any fear of being gunned down by their rivals. Besides, the redheaded exotic dancer Foxy Leona who had been the main attraction of VIP section of that club had piqued his interest. Perhaps he could meet and know her better up close, or if he's lucky, she could _even_ have her _warm_ his bed tonight. He smiled at that thought.

They drove off from the affluent neighborhood of Zephyr Rose Fields and made their way into the dark streets of the inner city East Hillwood. The street economy of the inner city was alive and well, as usual. Dealers and whores alike plied their trade on the sidewalks to their respective clients. Pawnshops acted as fences for small-time crooks who wished to make money out of their stolen goods. These street merchants has to pay tribute to either the Yakuza or the Triad, depending on whom they had pledged their allegiance and fealty to. This was _their turf_ after all. In the dark alleys lies the illegal brothels, gambling dens, opium houses, hidden armories, and meth labs, which provides most of the income for the two giant underworld groups.

He gazed on the sidewalks nonchalantly through the tinted window of his car as they made their way through the streets. They just exited East Hillwood and now entering West Hillwood's party district, where Elysium was situated. It would be less than five blocks from where they were right at that moment. Their car was about to make a turn at the intersection when...

_**PHLOOG! SPLAT!**_

...a large plastic cup hit the windshield head on, splattering chocolate hot fudge sundae across the windshield, obscuring the driver's vision.

_**SCREEEEEECH!**_

The driver quickly swerved to the left, narrowly missing the fire hydrant on the sidewalk before halting a few feet away from it. Yotsuga was thrown out from his seat, landing hard against the door.

"Dammit, Morris! What's going on?!" he angrily asked his driver.

"Fuck! Someone _threw something_ at us! Imma get that punk and _murder_ his ass!" Morris the driver declared furiously as he got out of the car and searched for the culprit who threw the chocolate hot fudge sundae at their car. His eyes fell upon a skinny, short teenage boy wearing an oversized bright orange hoodie with the hood drawn up, tattered jeans, and dirty sneakers. He was wearing a pair of round John Lennon style shades, even if it was almost midnight. He was frozen where he stood. It's hard to tell whether he had frozen in terror, or was _dumb_ enough not to realize that an extremely _pissed-off_ hulking black guy was heading toward him, itching to beat him senseless _at least_.

"You little shithead! You wanna die, huh?! What's the big idea...?!" he hollered at him.

_**BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

Three quick gunshots rang out, and Morris fell on the ground face-first. A pool of blood formed quickly around his body. The skinny teenager kept the smoking muzzle of his handgun pointed at the dead driver, and nudged his head a bit with his foot to make sure he's dead. He's _dead_, alright. He then quickly headed to the black Mitsubishi Evo, where his _true target_ was.

Yotsuga watched in horror as his driver was shot in cold-blood. He dove to the car's glove compartment where he knew a gun was hidden. He fumbled around its contents until her was able to grab the firearm. He whipped it around and aimed it to the window, only to find a handgun muzzle staring right down at him. He shakily aimed his hand-gun at his would-be assailant.

"W-who are you?! W-what do you want?!"

The skinny teenager removed his shades and took down his hood, revealing a delicate woman's face, and a fierce, intense midnight-black eyes. The teenager was a _she_.

"**Vengeance**," was all she said in Japanese, pulling back the hammer of her handgun.

_**CLICK!**_

Yotsuga almost dropped his gun as he gazed upon her eyes. Blood drained from his face as he realized where he had seen those eyes before. _She must got it from him_, he thought.

"N-no...it can't be! S-Shinoda..."

_**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

Multiple gunshots rang out. She nearly emptied the entire clip on him. The window of his car was totally shattered as his bloodied body lied lifelessly on the car seat. She looked at her work, and let out a snort. Not as good and satisfying a running her target with the blade of her sword, but good enough.

"Oh God! NOOOOOOO!""

She turned around as scream echoed through the dark streets. A middle-aged lady not far from her crumpled on the ground, dropping her grocery bags, crying and screaming like crazy as she saw the grisly aftermath of the young lady's work.

"Shit," the young assassin cursed under her breath. Time to make her getaway.

She ran to the nearest alley, and headed to its darkest corner near the dumpsters. She hurriedly took off her orange hoodie and tossed it to a nearby dumpster. She ripped off her tattered jeans to turn it into a pair of shorts, and tossed the excess fabric aside. Unbeknownst to her, a homeless man was lying near the dumpster and was watching her, dumbfounded, as she ripped off her disguise. She gave him a cold gaze as she straightened her black tank top that was beneath her orange hoodie disguise.

"You can keep my clothes. And for your silence," she then tossed a hundred dollar bill at him. He picked up the bill and looked at it in disbelief. His eyes sparkled with joy. He did not want to blink at that time, for everything might be just a dream, and his newly-found treasure might just disappear in a snap. That's more than enough to feed him for the next few weeks. He wanted to cry and hug the kind-hearted angel who gave him the gift, but she ran off some distance from him. As the lone light in the alley shone on her back, and enduring image for his angel burned into his mind:

A tattoo of a dragon's head on her shoulder blade.

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

_"Probably if you are reading this, I might be dead or had been eliminated by someone who I had a run-in in the past. I have made so many enemies that I have no freakin' idea who's most likely to do me in the near or far future. So let this little journal of mine be a legacy the I'll be leaving as a testament to the worthless duration of my existence in God's green earth. Yes, I will be doing this for my friend Hissy, whose dark secret would be forever be lost and die with me._

_Yes, Hissy, aka Hisashi Shinoda. That Japanese jerk. I met him when I was looking for a break from being a small-time freelance crook. Yeah, I'm tired of being settling for cheapass rackets. I want to play with the big boys. And for that to happen, I need to join a team. A solid team._

_I started as a low-level lackey for the Yamaguchi-gumi, one of the biggest Japanese underorld groups in the West Coast. To the outsiders, they're simply referred to as the "Yakuza". Yakuza is just a catch-all term for any Japanese underworld group, and the Yamaguchi-gumi was just one of them, and one of a largest as well. But they to refer to their group as the "Clan"._

_The Clan mostly operates in Asia, but it had established its presence in the West Coast through the efforts of the great Shingen Takeda. Shingen Takeda, now that's the man! He could be the kindest, most understanding, most fatherly nice guy one could ever be, but he could be the most cold-hearted, cruel demon that you definitely don't want to meet. He single-handedly led the Clan wrestle its way to the top of the California underworld with his cunning and ruthlessness._

As a well-organized gang, there's a strict hierarchy it follows. Takeda runs the Clan like a company. A criminal company, to be exact. We, the low-level lackeys, do the most of the dirty work: collectors, pimps, drug dealers, hitmen, loan sharks, goons, runners, mules, those kind of people. We are those. Above us are our underbosses, mostly Japanese guys. These are like middle-management people. And above them still were the bosses who were like senior managers in a company. I'm not gonna bore you with the details, but the thing is above the hierarchy is Shingen Takeda, the overlord of this underworld empire. And at his side were his two trusted proteges, his so-called "children": Saburo Ichimonji and Hisashi Shinoda.

_Saburo Ichimonji is Takeda's biological son. It is said that his mother was one of the courtesans in Takeda's high-end whorehouses in Osaka that he took as a girlfriend, and Saburo was the fruit of that relationship. Legend has is that Takeda caught his girlfriend cheating on him, red-handed, and killed her and her lover right on the spot, and later grieved for her death. He took care of Saburo since then. Takeda brought Saburo with him when to the United States when he was pioneering the Clan's operations in the West Coast. Saburo was in his early twenties back then. _

_Saburo inherited much of Takeda's ruthlessness, and little of his kindness. He is very cranky at times. He would fly into rage at slightest provocation, often taking out at his poor lackeys, who were unlucky enough to be always at the receiving end of his "tantrums". Sucks to be them, I always thought. But most of the time, he very much intense in his efforts to learn the ropes of the underworld, and soon succeed his father as the overlord of their empire. He would often volunteer to take on the day-to-day tasks of running the business, and would often ask a lot, eager to learn like a wide-eyed school boy. Shingen Takeda couldn't be prouder of having a son whho is more than eager to follow his footsteps and even surpass his achievments as the lord of the Clan, if not for his one fatal flaw: his pride and arrogance._

_Saburo valued his pride more than anything else. Say if you're really tired of your life and you really want to die, just tell him that his mother is a dirty whore, and the next thing you'll know you're either under the dark waters of San Francisco Bay, or under the sands of the Mojave desert. He does not take any insult or slight very lightly, be it serious or petty ones. He is very quick to remind those who work for him of their places. Those who had happened to forget met a quick end, if they're luckly enough, through Saburo's favorite toy: his four-foot long-ass sword. He sees himself as some sort of lord over them, above them in the Clan food chain. There was one guy I knew who nearly lost his hand when he forgot to bow down to Shinoda as a show of respect. Well, he did not totally lose his hand, but he nearly died after losing so much blood when Saburo missed his swing and cut through the poor guy's wrist. No one dared to joke or kid around him, lest they risk offending him in any slightest and petty way and be at the receiving end of his blade. No one, except for this guy: Hisashi Shinoda._

_Hisashi Shinoda is the only guy who could joke around, and even openly insult Saburo and get away with it. Saburo considered him as a brother, and Takeda looked at him as his own son. Born in San Diego to a Japanese father and an Irish-American mother, he started his career in crime as a small-time con-artist. A natural smooth-talker, he can bullshit his way into almost anything. Well, ALMOST. He made a big mistake of making the notorious boss Shingen Takeda his "mark" (victim) in one of his con-games. The con went on successfully, and he got away with almost a hundred thousand dollars. What he did not know is that Takeda would stop at nothing to get him and make him pay dearly for conning the great Yakuza lord. After months of being on the run, Hisashi was finally caught by Takeda's men and was brought to him. He thought this was the end of him. No one dared to wrong the great and infamous Shingen Takeda and lived to tell the tale, well, except for that sly bastard Hisashi._

_I don't know exactly what happened. Either he was extremely lucky, or bullshitted his way around Takeda for the second time and it worked, but whatever he did, it made the notorious Yakuza lord spare his life and make a better use of his talent by including him in the Clan. Indeed, Hisashi proved his worth to the Clan. He was the chief negotiator and overall PR guy, being a natural smooth-talker and fluent in English. He brokered several deals with the established gangs and groups in the West Coast, putting the Yamaguchi-gumi in the underworld map. His laid-back personality and management style made him popular among the Clan. He's a cool guy to be around with, but like his brother Saburo, he is without a flaw: his lust for women. _

_Being a smoooth-talker made him a lady-killer. I worked as his valet, and I am required to be on his side all the timees. Every night he was with a different woman. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, Caucasians, African-Americans, Europeans, every night was different. And mind you, these aren't cheap whores that he's hitting on. These are classy, sophisticated women. He would spare no expense everytime he's with these women. Sometimes it's two ladies he's out at the same time, working a menager-a-trois with them. I told him that his lust for ladies would be soon the death of him. He would merely laugh and tell me how right I am._

_Shingen Takeda treats these two as his children, and charges them with the task of running of his empire. Saburo and Hisashi are more than colleagues, or friends. They are brothers. Together, they formed a formidable force within the Clan. They complemented each other. What Saburo lacked in his inter-personal and social skills, he made up with his sheer determination and hardwork. And what Hisashi lacked in motivation and hardwork, he made it up with his natural talent. The two worked in harmony, occasionally running into disagreements, but were quick to sort them out and soon return to their normal working relationship. Everything was well between the two, until she came into the picture. She, that redheaded Southern she-devil. Rosalinde Woolsworth._

_Rosalinde, or Rose, started as Saburo's lackey, serving as his assistant, messenger, at times his assassin, and rumor has it that she's his personal "bed warmer" as well. She came from Kentucky, and moved to the West Coast seeking her fortune. It is in one of those dimly-lit smoky jazz bars that Saburo often frequents that he recruited Rose who was working as a waitress. She quickly proved herself as a valuable lackey to Saburo. She would perform each task flawlessly, and would even go above and beyond to finish the task in hand. She gained Saburo's trust, and affections as well, and soon became his mistress. She's smart, sassy, and strong-willed, not to mention hot too. I know such women would not miss Hissy's attention. And how right I am._

_I am not stupid not to know that Hissy has took a liking on Rose. I told, no, WARNED him repeatedly that she's Saburo's bitch, and he should lay his hands off her. But that horndog wouldn't listen. I told him that that redheaded devil would be the death of him, and how right I was..."_

Gerald rubbed his eyes as he paused reading Stavros' journal. He had been reading it for the past hour. He then grabbed his whiskey bottle for a swig, but he realized it was empty. He groaned as he stood up, headed to the cupboard only to find it empty as well. He slammed the cupboard shut. He badly needed a drink right now, now that the journal was about to reveal more about what Stavros knows about Kyo Heyerdahl's murder. What he read so far seemed like a badly-written plot for a film-noir or crime novel. But what does it have to do with Kyo Heyerdahl, and ultimately, with Phoebe?

The skeletons were now out of the closet.

**-=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=- -=NOIR=-**

Arnold sighed as he gazed upon the night skyline of his neighborhood. It was not what it used to be back when he was young. Most of the houses and buildings were decaying and dilapidated. Even most of the old occupants in their neigborhood were gone too. Mrs. Vitello had passed away, and her flower shop was sold to an immigrant family who replaced the shop with a liquor store. Mr. Green passed away as well, and his classmate Harold Behrman took over the business. He was successful though, as Mr. Green's shop became first of his chain of meat shops around the city. Lucky for him, though, for most of the houses now have either turned into crackhouses, or den for street gangs that would engage on bloody gunfights with rival gangs from time to time. Gunshots and police sirens wailing were common nightly sounds in Vine Street.

Arnold smiled bitterly. If he only knew that the neighborhood would only turn out the cesspit it was right now, he wouldn't worked so hard with Gerald back then to save it from the industrialist Scheck. Come to think of it, it would be better off if the neighborhood had been turned into a shopping mall complex rather than one of the worst neighborhoods in the inner city Hillwood. Change is indeed good, he smiled bitterly at the thought.

He took a puff from his cigarette and blew off the smoke, watching it dissipate in front of him. He didn't usually smoke, but now he has a good reason to. That violet-eyed blonde he had loved so much haven't called for quite a while now. It has been more than a week since she left that mysterious voicemail message on his phone. After that, she never got in touch again. It is as if she fell off from the face of the Earth. He tried calling her numbers multiple times, but to no avail. He even tried going to her apartment, but she's not there either. The landlord can't tell where she was, as she already paid her rent a year in advance. He tried going to the places where she usually frequents, but to no avail.

He listened to her last voicemail again and again, searching for any clue of her whereabouts. It sounds like she made one of her typical overly-dramatic and poetic love messages, but he had a gut feeling that her references meant something more. Kiss the rain? Lyra Silvertongue? Amber spyglass?

He needed a drink. Badly. The cold chill on the rooftop of the Sunset Arms boarding house was getting unbearable.

He threw his cigarette over to the edge, and headed downstairs. He headed to to the kitchen where Gerald has been sitting on the table, poring over Stavros' journal for hours now. Beside him was an empty whiskey bottle. He headed to the cupboard to grab a bottle.

"Arnold, we don't have anything..." Gerald said without looking at Arnold, his eyes still fixed on the journal.

_**SLAM!**_

Arnold slammed the cupboard shut, seeing that they don't have any liquor left in the house.

"...left," Gerald continued, still fixed on the journal. "I was about to tell you that."

Arnold headed to the coat hanger to grab his jacket. He's gonna go out to grab some booze.

"You heading out?" Gerald asked.

"Yeap."

"Grab me some Jack Daniels and cigs. I think I'll be needing more..."

"Sure thing," said Arnold before he headed out.

Outside, the night breeze began blowing through the empty streets. Vine Street is relatively safe compared to other streets in the inner city Hillwood. There were fewer whores and dealers haunting the sidewalks. Arnold walked past a brunette whore who tried to sell her services to him. Arnold ignored her and headed straight to the liquor store where Mrs. Vitello's flower shop used to be.

He headed to where the whiskey were, and browsed over the whiskey bottles, looking for the brand that he and Gerald always preferred. Jack Daniels, on the bottom shelf. There it was. He stooped over to pick two bottles.

As he got up, time literally froze around him as his eyes fell upon a lovely blonde in front of him. She was wearing a long leather trench coat to ward off the evening chill outside. Her blonde long wavy blonde locks framed her face. His eyes locked upon her sapphire orbs. Yes, he had seen those eyes before. Those eyes were too familiar to be missed.

They say that time would freeze whenever you see someone who was truly meant or destined for you. Arnold was literally frozen at the spot where he stood. He almost dropped the whiskey bottles he was holding. He was face-to-face with the woman he least expected to see at this moment.

Helga Geraldine Pataki.


End file.
